


To Understand And To Be Understood

by SkyWrite



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Rubs, Blood and Injury, Eating Disorders, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Poison, Queerplatonic Relationships, Racism, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, Suicide Attempt, There are so many belly rubs, Urban Fantasy, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 148,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrite/pseuds/SkyWrite
Summary: (Rating is for violence and sensitive themes; there is no sexually explicit content in this work. The eating disorders tag refers to a character's complicated relationship with food due to past malnourishment and neglect. There are no descriptions of anorexia or bulimia in this work.)Elijah and Micah are enrolled in a university in a world where dark secrets hide underneath a pristine surface, and danger lurks around every corner. As the story progresses, Micah learns more about the peril that Elijah often faces and struggles to hide, while Elijah desperately tries to hold everything together at the seams, protecting Micah and everyone in his circle of friends at school. Elijah and Micah are queerplatonic partners.But these two are boys, and boys are generally dumb and eat things/amounts of things they probably shouldn't. So, amidst both the stress of classes and the stress of the dystopian society looming above their lives, waiting to bring an iron fist down... there's also a lot of stomachaches, overeating, hugs, and belly rubs. You're gonna have to get used to the belly rubs. There's a lot of them in this story.





	1. Feel A Little Faint

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to ask me questions or see some additional content for my characters, you can come see me at:  
> https://tiny-tum.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah admits he struggles with an eating disorder, and Micah tries to help him through it. Good intentions! Maaaybe not the best methods.

_“_ Dude, let me see it _. Now._ ”

Micah glared insistently, hand reached out towards Elijah hesitantly. He had frozen when his friend flinched violently at the movement, drawing back and squaring his shoulders as though to defend himself. The two of them looked at each other through narrowed eyes for a long moment, before something seemed to shift in Elijah’s gaze and he visibly forced himself to relax again, his expression falling to one of sheer exhaustion, even despondency, as Micah’s hand descended on his shoulder and pushed back the sleeve of his shirt.

The skin was an angry red, puckered around the hastily-sewn stitches, hot to the touch even though there wasn’t any obvious infection present. Faint stains from the dried blood lined the edges of the wound, but Elijah didn’t even flinch as Micah worked his cool fingers over the length of it.

“I have some antibiotic cream here somewhere…” Micah mumbled under his breath, scrambling from the futon to trot over to the medicine cabinet. He’d been prescribed the stuff at the beginning of the summer to deal with a mild injury to the foot he’d gotten poolside. He’d healed up in days, completely wasting most of the highly expensive medicine - or so he’d thought. He was relieved he actually had something on hand that could help.

Elijah had come over to study with him, and things had seemed entirely normal, until the moment when he had reached for a section of paper, his sleeve had ridden up, and the fresh wound to his shoulder had peeked out. Micah had asked him in the past to always tell him when he’d recently been hurt… but it seemed as though Elijah had decided to ignore him. Which stung, deep down. Inwardly, Micah clung to the possibility that Elijah had simply forgotten, as used to hiding his injuries as he was.

“So.” Micah cleared his throat, as he squeezed out a dollop of the cream onto two fingers, smearing the medicine over Elijah’s shoulder. “You were saying…?”

It took a moment for Elijah to make the connection, his startlingly blue eyes narrowing in confusion. Then relief washed over his face when he realized what Micah was asking, and he easily rambled out a few more sentences of their study guide. His casual tone lifted the tension that had fallen in the air between them.

“Proteins, nucleic acids, lipids, carbohydrates are the four major classes of biomolecules. Proteins act as signals, receptors, immune defenders, catalysts, and play a part in both structure and mobility. Nucleic acids store and transform information, lipids are used for energy and act as barrier molecules, and carbohydrates are used for energy and transmit information to other cells.”  
“…Nice.” Micah sighed awkwardly, his focus completely gone from the material they’d been working on all night. His concentration was blown. He was probably lucky the test wasn’t until _next_ week.

Elijah, when he’d found out that Micah made a habit of studying the day before the test and not an hour earlier, had quickly put an end to that with regular study sessions. At first, Micah had resisted, resenting the idea that he was being treated like a child, but when his grades improved immensely and it also became clear that Elijah simply enjoyed seeing him often… Micah had learned to appreciate the gesture deeply.

Elijah didn’t tense again at the short reply though; he looked tired and worn, eyelids heavy and half-closed, the muscles of his shoulder relaxed under Micah’s careful ministrations. When his friend had finished applying the medicine and pressed a bandage over the site of the injury, he pulled his sleeve carefully back down and yawned.

“Okay man, I think you should get some sleep. We can work on this tomorrow, can’t we?” Micah suggested, standing from the futon and stowing the medicine again. Elijah nodded slowly, reaching out to gather the study materials and stack them neatly.  
Micah watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again. “Dude, you look absolutely beat. You wanna crash here for the night? Roommate’s out for the weekend.”  
Elijah hesitated, then lifted his head contemplatively. After a pause, he asked, “Are you sure?”  
“Totally. Here, get up off the futon for a second so I can put down a blanket and pillow for ya.”

Elijah obeyed, climbing to his feet somewhat laboriously and stepping away, taking the study supplies with him to set atop the desk. Micah tossed a couple blankets down over the cushions and chucked a pillow at the armrest, then turned to Elijah to wish him sweet dreams with a grin. He’d barely opened his mouth when Elijah stumbled in place, one hand lifting towards his head, the other grasping futilely at the corner of the wall before his knees buckled and he hit the floor of the dorm room without so much as a sigh.

“ _Elijah!_ ”

The scream had barely left his lips before Micah was leaping across the room, hitting his knees next to his friend and grabbing him by one broad shoulder, grunting with the effort to turn him over onto his back, his panicked mind racing. What should he _do?_ He couldn’t call a hospital - Elijah had told him more than once; under _no_ circumstances was it _ever_ safe to call a hospital, there were eyes _everywhere_ -

Micah frantically grasped the edge of Elijah’s shirt and pulled it up, searching frantically for more wounds. Had he been bleeding this whole time? Why hadn’t he seen it!? Where could he have gotten hurt that would cause him to pass out like this? What should he _do?_

Micah could have cried with worry, and he very nearly did, but then Elijah shifted underneath him with a faint groan, blinking with great effort, opening his eyes and focusing on him in a daze.

“Elijah… _fuck_ …” Micah choked out, smearing one hand over the back of his eyes shamefully. “Man, what happened, ya gotta tell me where you’re hurt, you have to - we have to find some way to get you -“  
“ _Damn_ it.”

Micah stopped rambling instantly. Elijah almost never swore. The two of them blinked in confusion at each other for a moment before Elijah lifted a hand, rubbing it over his face slowly.  
“My apologies. I should mind the language. Am I to take it that I passed out?”  
“Considering you’re laying on the fucking floor and I’m here about to cry a river over your dumb ass, yeah, you might could take it that way. You’re… not hurt?”

“Not gravely. Not beyond the mild gash to the shoulder.” Elijah sighed as he brushed the place under his sleeve that Micah had bandaged. “No.. I believe the reason for my losing consciousness… is likely related to the fact that I have not maintained a proper caloric intake recently. I am sorry Micah… I did not intend to let it go for this long.”

It took Micah an embarrassingly long time to process that. When he finally did, he blinked, then scowled fiercely.  
“You’re telling me you just wiped out on the floor of my dorm room… because you haven’t been _eating?_ ”

Swallowing hard, Elijah nodded slowly. Silence fell for another several uncomfortable seconds.

“All right dude, get up.” Micah hooked one hand underneath Elijah’s shoulder, completely ineffectively trying to haul him to his feet, but luckily he managed to get there himself, rising unsteadily and letting himself get dragged to the futon on shaky legs. He sat down with a huff of exhaustion and leaned back, closing his eyes. Micah planted himself on the seat next to him and crossed his arms.  
“Why the _fuck_ have you not been eating?”

“I have been very busy.” Elijah protested, in response to which his friend snorted derisively. “It is also somewhat of a… bad habit of mine. I am sorry, truly, I did not intend to cause any trouble.”  
“You think I’m worried about _that?_ ” Micah threw his hands up. “Dude, you can’t just not _eat_ anything! What do you _mean_ , it’s a bad habit? How long have you been doing this?”

Elijah fell silent, looking ashamed, refusing eye contact, and Micah gritted his teeth.  
“Look man, you are _going_ to fucking _talk_ to me, or I’ll-“  
“Please.” Elijah spoke up in a very small voice, his hands raising to gently grasp Micah by both shoulders. He still looked away, but his voice, his hold was pleading. “Give me just a moment. I am only trying to think of how to properly explain, Micah. Please be patient with me.”

Micah shut his mouth, gazing back at his friend, his heart clenching. After a long, heavy silence, Elijah sighed once more and began speaking, very slowly, very low in tone. Micah almost had to strain to hear him.

“…When I was a child, I did not have adequate access to food. I had to learn very quickly to get by on very little, and this state continued for many years. I was close to sixteen before I began to be able to eat normally again, and shortly afterwards, a series of personal tragedies did a lot of damage to my desire to care for myself at all.”

Elijah was being very vague, but Micah gulped at the mention of “sixteen.” That was the year before Elijah’s sister had been murdered, he knew that much. But what did he mean exactly? He didn’t want to care for himself? Meaning he didn’t want to feed himself?

“It is still fairly habitual for me to go for periods of time without eating… simply because I tend to be… compelled by the sense of control it gives me. I know this is a flawed and even dangerous way of thinking. It is something I am working to overcome. But I… still have setbacks.”

Elijah stopped talking then, letting his hands slide away from Micah’s shoulders, as he scooted back on the futon as though to give the other young man some space. The entire time he’d been speaking, he hadn’t made eye contact. Shame radiated off of him in nearly palpable waves… then Micah realized why he’d drawn back. He wanted to pull away first so that Micah couldn’t shrug him roughly away out of anger.

“You...” Micah muttered, sliding up close to Elijah on the futon again, “Are an…” he reached out and wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him close into a fierce hug, ignoring the surprised sound he got in response. “…absolute fuckwit. We have to get some food into you.”

After a tense moment, Elijah slowly relaxed and gratefully settled into the embrace. He put his arms around Micah in return and nestled his face in his friend’s curls, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  
“I do not really wish to leave the room again tonight.” He said quietly. “Could it wait until tomorrow?”  
“No, it fucking couldn’t. But we don’t have to go anywhere, y’know. Here- leggo.”

Micah wriggled out of the hold and stepped away, kneeling on the floor next to the tiny mini-fridge he’d managed to squeeze into his side of the room. He pulled open the door and retrieved a big plastic container of fried rice, mixed with vegetables and pieces of scrambled eggs and ham.

“You know that cafe down on the corner sells these huge things of this stir-fry for like seven bucks a pop. I go down at the beginning of the week and grab a tub and snack on it the rest of the week. I’ve got paper plates, too.”  
“Micah… while I deeply appreciate the sentiment, I am not certain that is a good idea…” Elijah said hesitantly, and when Micah glanced back at him, he was resting one hand almost protectively against his belly.

“Relax, dude, I just got this yesterday. Ain’t no way it would have gone bad yet. Don’t have a microwave so we’ll have to eat it cold but its seriously good at any temperature. And I’ll eat with you so you don’t have to eat alone. Nothing wrong with a midnight snack, right?”

Micah fixed two heaping platefuls of the stuff and grabbed two bottles of water, plopping down next to Elijah on the futon again and handing him his portion of the meal. Elijah accepted the plateful slowly, looking nervous as he fumbled with the plastic fork and brought the first bite to his lips.  
“Good, right?” Micah nudged with a grin, leaning back on the cushions with a contented sigh. “Man I think I’m gonna skip my eight am tomorrow and sleep in. We’re s’posed to have a sub and that just spells ‘nothing worth seeing here’ in big, red, neon letters for a Friday morning class.”  
“Hmm.” Elijah hummed somewhat encouragingly, which Micah took optimistically as wholehearted agreement. Besides, that meant Elijah could sleep in, too. They could both use the extra z’s.

Micah was almost done with his food when he glanced over and realized Elijah had come to a dead halt. He’d only barely scraped through half the meal, and was holding the plate gingerly on top of his knees. He looked a bit pale and Micah frowned, not wanting to see his friend pass out again.  
“Come on, man. Eat. I know you said its hard sometimes but there’s just no way around it.”  
“I’m, um-“ Elijah swallowed hard, his formal speech pattern a little off-kilter. “Full. I think it best I save the rest for later.”  
“Nope. You gotta eat that, you’re way bigger than me and if I can handle it, so can you. Eat the damn rice, Elijah.”

With apparent immense reluctance, Elijah picked up the fork again and continued eating, slowly, and Micah slowed down his pace as well to try not to finish leagues ahead. For a while the only sounds in the room were the clock ticking and the sounds of plastic forks on paper plates. Then the relative quiet was shattered with a long, drawn out, sickly-sounding _gurgle_.

Micah’s eyes widened comically as he immediately turned towards Elijah, who was frighteningly pale now, his hand having rose to clutch at his middle. Micah reached out and grabbed the almost-empty plate from his friend before it could spill on the floor.  
“Was that your _stomach?_ ”

For a second, Elijah looked like he was going to answer, but then he clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, sweat on his brow, and groaned softly.

Micah didn’t wait for him to pull himself together, he just cleared away the plates and got up from the futon, making Elijah lie down as he grabbed his laptop. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friend arranging himself with pained stiffness on the cushions, both hands now resting over his belly. It was a bit of a shock how distended Elijah’s stomach was, now that Micah was looking at him more carefully.

After a few minutes of searching the internet for what to do when a starving person looks like they’re about to throw up, Micah was wallowing in guilt. Depending how long Elijah really had gone without eating, or at least, without eating enough, Micah could have just seriously fucked up his friend’s digestion with a big, heavy meal like that. It was no wonder the poor guy had said he was full just a few minutes after he’d started eating… his stomach capacity had shrunken.

“I fucked up.” Micah growled under his breath, shutting the laptop and shoving it away as he scooted on his knees over to the edge of the futon. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you _say_ anything? You could have explained it to me, you know! Why didn’t you?”  
“Because, it…” Elijah’s hands pressed down over his stomach when it rumbled audibly again, a pained grimace on his face. “It meant a lot to me that you cared.”

The words almost froze Micah in place, but he quickly shook himself and slid his hands up to rest over Elijah’s belly as well, his brow drawn in deep sympathy. Elijah seemed to welcome the contact, lifting his hands to place them over Micah’s and hold them over his rolling, gurgling stomach. He kept swallowing and Micah bit his lip.

“Do you think you’re gonna throw up?”  
“Not sure.” Elijah muttered, eyes squeezed tight. He squirmed on the futon, and hesitantly, Micah pushed the other young man’s shirt up, and began gently palming over his belly, smoothing his hands over the swell over and over, hoping desperately to help soothe the indigestion. He had no idea what he was doing though; hopefully he wasn’t just hurting Elijah more.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, right?” Micah prompted, getting a faint groan in response before Elijah managed to reply.  
“Of course.”  
“Just making sure.”

Micah watched helplessly as a cramp nearly folded Elijah in half, hovering nearby until his friend straightened out on the futon again so he could place his hands back on his belly comfortingly. _Damn it_ , it seemed to be getting worse. Elijah looked less nauseated, but in more pain the more time passed. He could barely lie still, forehead clammy with sweat, both hands clutched to his stomach and more moans kept slipping through his clenched teeth.

“Fuck. I fucked up.” Micah whispered, still trying to rub away the pain in his friend’s belly, finding little success but plenty of guilt. Finally, Elijah couldn’t seem to take it anymore, and just curled into a fetal position on the futon, inhibiting Micah’s attempts to massage his stomach for him.  
“I’ll uh… look for a hot water bottle.” Micah jumped up and began rummaging around in the cabinet under the desk; he was sure that he had at least one in here.

His search, blessedly, wasn’t futile, and with a guilty glance at Elijah, he left him moaning quietly and almost writhing on the futon just long enough to run down to the communal bathroom down the hall and fill the pack with steaming hot water from the tap. He wished the dorms had some way to heat water over the stove… but for now, the tap was the best they had. Hopefully it would be better than nothing.

He made it back to his room in record time, taking in the miserable form of his best friend with a twist in his own stomach, before dropping to his knees beside him again and placing one hand gently on his shoulder.  
“Hey man… this is gonna sound crazy, but do you think you can get up just long enough to get in the bed?” Bleary, miserable blue eyes peered out at him, and Micah nodded. “Yeah, it’s better than the futon… and it will make taking care of you easier.”

It was a slow, painful crawl, but, holding his stomach and wincing the whole time, Elijah managed to get to his feet and slide onto Micah’s twin bed shoved in the corner of the cramped room, kicking off his shoes before tucking his feet under the covers.

It was a bit of a squeeze, but Micah slipped in next to him, pushing the hot water bottle into his friend’s hands, who clutched it like a lifeline to his swollen, bloated belly. He moaned in faint relief as the heat eased the stomachache slightly, and Micah began to rub his back as soothingly as he could. He could feel Elijah’s muscles twitching and clenching under his massage, and could still hear the gurgles and grumbles. But maybe, just maybe, all the tiny comforts they could possibly get in would help just a little.   
“If you get to feeling any better and can roll over a bit, I can keep rubbing your tummy for you.” Micah offered quietly, hearing Elijah groan.  
“Did you just say ‘tummy?’”  
“Yeah, I mean-“ Micah suddenly grinned, despite the general suckyness of the situation. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those tough guys who won’t say ‘tummy?’ Not even when its hurting?”  
A faintly annoyed grunt was his response, and Micah couldn’t help chuckling under his breath, just once.

He kept rubbing Elijah’s back, and slowly, ever so slowly over the course of the following hour or more, Elijah seemed to lose some of the tension from the pain. Close to 2am he grunted faintly, and rolled over onto his back, tossing the then-tepid water bottle off to the side.

“Want some help, now?” Micah asked, placing his hands back on his friend’s stomach and beginning to rub again, after he’d gotten a hesitant nod. The contents of Elijah’s pained belly shifted and burbled under his ministrations, but the poor guy looked less agonized, even if still mostly miserable.  
“I really fucked up, dude.” Micah murmured dejectedly, stroking his soft palms one after the other, from the top of Elijah’s belly down to below his navel, over and over again in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm. “I really did. I’m so sorry.”  
“…What?” Elijah mumbled in confusion, pausing to belch softly into a clenched fist just after his stomach gurgled deeply. “It is… my fault, there is no need for you to apologize. Or even…” Shame washed over Elijah’s expression. “Do so much to help me.”  
“I can’t just let you suffer if there’s something I can do to help, even a little.” Micah protested, brow creasing again as more gurgles bubbled up from Elijah’s insides, making his friend moan and shift uncomfortably.  
“Would it not… make sense?”

Before he could stop himself, Micah felt his jaw drop as he lifted his gaze to Elijah’s face, who was abruptly avoiding eye contact again.  
“Dude! _No way!_ Sure, I mean it was dumb to let yourself go hungry like this, but it kinda sounded like thats just gonna be something we need to keep an eye on. You think I should just be the ‘serves you right’ guy and walk away?” He frowned, upset by the thought. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”  
“No, I- I didn’t mean-“  
“Okay, whoa, whoa, calm down, that was purely rhetorical. Don’t get worked up, you’ll hurt your poor guts even more.” Micah paused to gently pat the center of Elijah’s belly before continuing to rub. “Oh wait, hang on, do you think you could chew some antacids if I got them out?”

“Mhm.” Elijah hummed uncertainly, clearly not wanting to go without the belly rub for very long.  
“It’ll just take a second, I promise.”

Micah jumped up and darted for the medicine bin again. He shook out two tablets, then scrambled back over to the bed, dropping the medicine into his friend’s hand and pressing his hands against Elijah’s tender belly once more. After Elijah had chewed and swallowed the tablets, they both waited, and then he closed his eyes with a deep sigh after several minutes.

“Better?”  
“Slightly. Thank you, Micah…” Elijah stretched out a little more on the mattress, his muscular stomach fully vulnerable to Micah’s touch and comfort. He whimpered once or twice when Micah seemed to press down over a particularly sensitive spot, but would calm again within a moment. The sickly-sounding gurgles and rumbles were finally starting to taper off.

Both of them startled tremendously when a loud, airy burp left Elijah’s lips, clearly taking him by complete surprise as he covered his mouth. Not able to help himself, Micah began laughing, only shaking away the humor when Elijah gave him a vaguely offended look.  
“I’m not making fun! You can’t help it, man, you have to do what you can to help yourself feel better. Do you?”  
“…A little, perhaps.”  
“Then just relax. Let it up.”

They were both quiet again while Micah rubbed, and Elijah did his best not to squirm around and hold still. He burped twice more, politely stifling it behind his hand each time, and Micah could almost swear he felt the tautness of his friend’s belly deflate a little with each belch. 

Eventually, Elijah sank a little more heavily into the mattress, eyes at half-mast and stomach gurgling out a pained chorus. Micah paused and looked at his friend’s face.  
“I will be alright, Micah, I feel somewhat better. It is very late, you need to get some sleep. I should get up.”  
"You’re not going anywhere.” Micah said sternly, letting both his palms rest comfortingly over the tensest portion of Elijah’s abused stomach. “You just sleep here tonight. Hell, I probably will, too. Unless I feel like I’m bothering you, then I can move over to the futon. But I’m not going to sleep until you feel all the way better.”

Elijah sighed faintly, rubbing at one eye. “…It means a lot to me that my comfort is that important to you-“  
“Dude, why wouldn’t it be?”  
“-but you will be up all night. I think it would be best for us if we both went to sleep.”  
“I guess I’m not helping much, huh?” Micah mumbled, giving Elijah’s belly another careful rub, smoothing his thumbs along the edge of the bulge at his friend’s ribs when his abdomen let out a particularly distressed gurgle.

“You are helping immensely.” Elijah quickly insisted, stretching out a little more once again and hefting a deep breath. “But it hurts just as much each time you stop, which tells me it will probably not ease up entirely until a fair amount of time has passed.”  
“Tell you what.” Micah started quietly, resuming the massage. “I’ll rub your tummy until you fall asleep, then I’ll go to sleep too once you’re out. Then if it starts to hurt really bad again during the night, you wake me up again so I can help.”  
“…Alright.” Elijah didn’t exactly sound like he would follow through on the latter, but at least he wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you, Micah…”  
“Don’t mention it.” Micah said softly, smoothing his palms down and around Elijah’s tormented belly. “I’m just sorry you ended up with such a stomachache… and do _not_ say that you deserved it, man.”

Elijah closed his mouth, clearly having been about to say something along those lines. Gradually, he relaxed again under Micah’s comforting ministrations, eyelids fluttering once every so often until he let out a deep sigh and they closed. He seemed to sink into sleep within moments, going slack against the mattress, and Micah rubbed for a few more minutes for good measure before he let his hands still.

Very carefully, he climbed off the bed, changing into some soft sweats and grabbing his toothbrush. He was down to the bathroom and back in five minutes, easing open the door silently and relieved to find Elijah snoring very faintly.  
He slipped back into the twin with him, reaching out and laying just one hand over his friend’s stomach, hoping the slight weight would comfort him.

Micah fell asleep watching his hand rise and fall with Elijah’s breaths, pressed close to his side, his forehead practically resting on his shoulder. They slept for a few hours, and it wasn’t until close to 6am that Micah stirred, woken by the sensation of Elijah taking his hand and pressing it over his belly, which was gurgling in distress again.

“Bad?” Micah yawned, palpating gently with both palms to break up the tension in the muscles. A strained groan was all the response Elijah seemed able to muster, and Micah eased up, going back to soothing, stroking motions with his whole hand. It was twenty minutes before Elijah fell back into fitful sleep, and Micah joined him, rubbing his friend’s belly until his hands grew still as he dropped off.

They didn’t awake again until late morning, and for the first time in a long while, Micah was the first one to open his eyes, taking in Elijah’s peacefully sleeping face with a sense of relief. 

He slid out onto his socked feet, making another foray to the medicine cabinet to shake out another dose of antacids into his palm. Behind him he heard Elijah stir, and yawn, and he turned back, crossing the room and smiling hopefully down at the other young man in the bed.  
“Feel any better?”  
“So much.” Elijah sighed deeply, stretching. He pushed his long hair back from his face and rubbed his own stomach once, looking far more at ease.

“Still hurts?” Micah climbed back in the bed, offering the tablets which Elijah accepted and chewed before putting his arms around Micah in a big hug, pulling him snug against his chest.  
“Just a bit sore.” Elijah seemed too sleepy to fully rouse, but Micah wasn’t complaining. He nestled into the cuddle in delight, listening to his friend’s heart beat. He wrapped his arm around Elijah’s back and held onto him, beyond relieved that the worst of his stomachache seemed to be gone.

“Thank you for doing so much to help me, Micah…you didn’t have to.” Elijah mumbled softly into his hair, and Micah sighed, a flicker of sadness rising in him. Why did Elijah seem so convinced that he didn’t deserve comfort when he was hurting?   
“Hey… don’t worry about it, man.” Micah rubbed his friend’s back a little, rewarded with a deep hum of appreciation. “You’ve always done the same for me.”  
“That’s… different.” Elijah breathed, then immediately fell back asleep, head sinking into the pillow. Micah blinked in alarm.

What did he mean, it was different…?


	2. Charred Frisbees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah shows Micah how to properly cook pancakes and then eats his weight in them to chase out bad memories. (Mild warning for a PTSD-induced nonverbal episode.)

_It was dark._

_He could hear the screams._

_Elijah rounded the corner just as the ringleader burst into laughter, and swung, hard and heavy. His fist cracked into the side of the man’s face so forcefully that the skin split; and from there, the next several minutes devolved into a madness of pain and brutality._

_He drew his fist back again once he had the man on the ground, striking the attacker's face repeatedly before dropping to dodge a kick aimed at his head from the others. As he ducked, he rolled back and flicked out a tiny blade, slicing across the throat of the one he'd just been pummeling mercilessly. The man choked on a scream and then his own blood as he drowned in it._

_Another snarled in anger, ramming into Elijah and shoving him against the stone wall of the alley. His head slammed against the bricks and for a split second the world disappeared in a blaze of white-hot agony, the knife falling from his grasp. As the spots receded from his vision, he brought his knee up with a sharp crack against the other man's jaw, rewarded with a howl of pain._

_Two down, but the third- Elijah gave a strangled cry of pain as his own knife was buried in his shoulder. The wound seared but would not be life threatening if he stitched it up within a couple of hours… he shoved the pain away as he whirled on his last adversary and engaged in a battle for the knife._

_The tiny blade didn't survive being slammed into the pavement in the ensuing struggle, and Elijah ignored the small piece of mangled metal in favor of the rock he grabbed from the crumbling remains of the sidewalk. The next several seconds were disturbing in their savagery, as Elijah beat the man beneath him, over, and over, and over, until the battered face and broken body of his opponent lay still, staring sightlessly up into the dark sky._

_“Go!” He cried, leaping to his feet, coughing a red spray into the frozen winter air, gums bleeding profusely from the blow he’d taken to the jaw. “Run!” He grabbed the scarlet-stained rock again and smashed at the lock on the back doors of the truck until the metal buckled, tore loose. “They are coming!”_

_He could hear the cries from inside, children, families, weeping, screaming, the smell of misery rank in the air. He could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance._

_They were coming._

_“Run!” Elijah screamed as bodies scrambled past, broken, bleeding feet slamming onto the ice-slick road, the wails of the lost, persecuted, echoing around him. “Run!” His throat was raw, his voice hoarse. Already bodies, not lives. They were as good as dead…_

_The police would come, the ambulances, the EMTs._

_And they would round up the bodies of the lost and persecuted, shove them back into their cages, and the screams would never, ever end._

_“Run!”_

_There was blood in the snow._

_-_

Elijah woke up.

Sunlight streamed into the room, bathing the walls, casting a golden glow over the dusty floorboards. It was warm, and he was wrapped in the sheets of his bed, a mound of pillows strewn about him.  
An ear-splitting alarm rang through the apartment, shattering the otherwise peaceful summer morning. The smell of burnt dough was in the air.

Elijah stared at the fire detector in the ceiling, blaring its urgency, impossible to ignore. But he could not move, he could only lie there, frozen, locked in place with the terror of violence in the night ringing in his mind. He trembled against the mattress, hands clenching and unclenching, his breath coming in short gasps. He stared at the fire detector and begged it silently to stop.

Abruptly, blessedly, the alarm cut off, and the sound of soft swearing floated in from the kitchen.  
“ _Fuck_. Damn it. What the hell. I _know_ I did it right this time. Stupid pancakes fucking me over.”

Elijah could hear the padding of socked feet across the floor, then Micah poked his head through the doorway, grinning sheepishly when he saw his friend’s open eyes.  
“Yeah, knew there was no way you’d sleep through that. Can you show me how to work your stovetop again? This thing’s so ancient, man, I’m telling ya… _oh_. Oh no. Hey… hey El…”  
Micah crept towards him, one hand out invitingly, his brown drawn in worry.  
“It’s me. It’s me, okay? You’re okay. You’re okay… hey, I’m gonna put my hand on your shoulder now.”

The weight of Micah’s hand clasped his shoulder and he flinched violently, his breath breaking once between his lips, chest constricting for another lungful. His friend’s thumb stroked over his arm soothingly, calmingly. Elijah took deep breaths, a tremor under his skin, his hands clenching and unclenching against the mattress.  
“It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here. Hey, can you hear me?” Micah’s hand moved to his chest as he began to pat gently, the thumping sensation more grounding than any texture or sound in the room. “Wiggle or something so I know you’re not still asleep?”

Elijah blinked, shook his head. He opened his mouth but the words died on his tongue. Even the thought of speaking aloud was so wholly exhausting, he couldn’t fathom mustering the energy, despite the cacophony roaring in his mind. A little sigh left him, a soft sound at the end, and he lay still, lips parted helplessly as he stared at the equally silent fire detector.

“O-kay, looks like a no talking day then, huh?” Micah’s voice was gentle, encouraging, and he was still patting his chest.  
Pat, pat, pat.  
Elijah took a deep breath that wasn’t quite so strained. His hands slowly relaxed by his sides.

“There ya go. It’s okay, dude, you’re safe, I promise. You’re here. I’m here. I’m making- ‘scuse me, I’m _burning_ pancakes in your kitchen. You wanna get up and come re-teach my dumb ass how to do this right?”  
Elijah managed a soft sound, even managed to move, lifting one hand and grasping Micah’s, holding on tight as he rolled over and pressed his face further into the pillow beneath his head.  
“Hey we can sleep more later, dude. Up you get. I know you’re hungry. Here, you want proof?”

Micah gently extricated his hand, left the room, and came back with a blackened disk. He held it up proudly with a grin as Elijah blinked slowly at him.  
“Charred frisbees! Hot and ready.”  
“Hmm.”  
“Don’t give me that tone.”

Micah crossed the room, pancake in hand, then cheerfully slapped the “charred frisbee” down over his friend’s face, eliciting a very offended grunt. Elijah scowled as he peeled the ruined breakfast attempt from his cheek, shuffling to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He dusted blackened crumbs out of his facial hair, glaring mildly at Micah all the while.  
“Told ya.”

Elijah pushed aside the painful flickering in the back of his mind, standing slowly and gently prodding Micah in the side, ushering him towards the kitchen.  
“Alright I’m going. Here, give me that, I’ll throw it away with the others.”

The kitchen was a right mess. There was more charred batter stuck to the gas stovetop, a smear of flour over the counter, and a bowl with a soupy sludge sitting on the table. Elijah quirked a brow at Micah, crossing the room to make sure the gas had at least been turned off, and satisfied that it had, began to methodically clean the mess. Despite the unappetizing disaster, his stomach growled quietly and Micah heard it and laughed.  
“We do have that fruit we picked up yesterday. I guess we could always run out and grab some cereal, too?”

Elijah shook his head calmly, pointing to the bowl on the table. Micah shrugged in confusion, but handed it to him, and he set it down on the section of counter he’d just wiped down. He fished a clean spoon from the drawer and tasted it tentatively, shaking his head again, then opened the cabinet and began pulling down ingredients; salt, more flour, baking powder. He moved to the fridge and returned with butter.

“Seriously? You think it’s fixable?” Micah asked, looking a bit delighted, and Elijah’s expression warmed as the faintest of smiles flickered across his lips. He nodded and chuckled when his friend bear-hugged him, giving him a warm squeeze in return. If Micah wanted pancakes then they were having pancakes, damn it. Besides, it wasn’t too bad, all things considered. At least Micah hadn’t _actually_ set anything on fire. And he had clearly added far too much vegetable oil and water, but it could be easily balanced back out with the dry ingredients. They were going to have a huge batch, though.

Once he’d dislodged the burnt bits from the stove and relit it, Elijah rinsed off the skillet and set it back over the flame. Using a large spoon, he dolloped out the batter and grabbed a spatula, tweaking Micah’s ear affectionately and pointing at the surface of the pancake demonstratively.  
When bubbles formed on the top of it, he edged the spatula underneath, then deftly flipped it, showing off the golden brown underside.

“Bubbles. Got it.” Micah nodded solemnly and Elijah’s eyes crinkled again with amusement. He kept pouring batter and stacking the finished pancakes on a big plate that they pulled out from another cabinet. Almost halfway through the batter, he stepped aside and pushed Micah softly towards the skillet, handing him the spoon and spatula.

“I’m gonna screw it up.”

Elijah shook his head.

“Fucking watch me, man.”

Micah clumsily spooned out a bit too much batter, waited, foot tapping, for the telltale bubbles at the top, then flopped the cake over with a faint splat. It didn’t turn out bad at all actually, just a little too big, a little lopsided. Micah grinned despite himself and Elijah flicked his friend’s forehead teasingly.

_See? That was not so terrible, was it?_

He opened his mouth but the words caught in the air and he stilled, staring in frustration at the wall.   
Micah watched him for a moment, then smiled reassuringly, poking him in the stomach impatiently.   
“Don’t worry about it, dude. You can tell me off tomorrow. We gonna finish these or what?”

They went back and forth through the rest of the bowl, and over time, Micah’s pancakes got a little more shapely and he looked prouder with each success. Elijah’s were almost uniform, except for one that he sneezed in the middle of, which Micah laughed gleefully over for a good few minutes.

When the bowl had been scraped clean and set in the sink to soak, they carried the heaping plateful over to the table and set out plates for themselves, silverware, and the pad of butter. Micah dug around in the cabinets for a while before hefting a sigh and shooting Elijah a look.  
“I guess you don’t have syrup, do you? You ever gonna explain your aversion to sugar to me?”

Elijah shrugged casually, reaching up and opening the cabinet in which he kept his tea supplies. He made chamomile for himself often after long nights on the streets, because it calmed him and made him sleepy, and sometimes, he would put a little bit of honey in it if his throat was sore from overuse. He pulled out the almost-full bottle of honey and held it out towards Micah, who accepted it with a grin and a shrug of his own.  
“Hey, that’s better than eating them plain. Thanks man.”

Elijah pulled out a small tub of cream cheese and the strawberries and blueberries they’d tucked in the fridge. It was an impulse buy, but it was summer, and the fruit had been on sale. Micah’s internship for the summer months was having a two-day holiday, giving the two of them a four-day weekend. For once, Elijah had no gang meetups or errands he was expected to attend for a while. As long as he didn’t trespass anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be, he could do what he liked until the next time he received a call. And so, they’d gotten together and had planned out four days of lazing around, keeping one another company. Small mercies like this were immeasurable in their comfort and happiness.

Elijah seated himself at the table after he’d grabbed the milk jug and couple of glasses as well, passing one to Micah. He picked up his knife and spread a layer of cream cheese atop the first pancake on his plate, slicing a few strawberries over the surface, then forked it and took a bite.

The food was still warm, topped with the cool, creamy cheese spread and interspersed with the tartness of the berries. He hummed in appreciation as he chewed and swallowed, scooping up another mouthful after passing the strawberries to Micah.

“Good, huh?” His friend asked excitedly, dumping an ungodly amount of honey over his own plate and digging in. He nodded in enthusiastic agreement, mouth full, and poured himself a glass of milk to wash it down.  
“Oh yeah, this is great. Thanks for fixing them, El.” He grinned sheepishly and Elijah smiled back at him.   
_It is alright, Micah. Cooking does not come easily to everyone. There is no need to feel embarrassed_ …

Elijah stifled a sigh by spreading another pancake with cream cheese and berry slices and filling his mouth with the taste and texture. He was not in danger, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to summon the words… this was Micah, this was home. He wanted to be upset with himself, but then he’d upset his best friend as well, and he wouldn’t do that if he could help it. Maybe if he just kept filling his mouth fast enough, he wouldn’t have to think about the words stuck in his throat.

He paused as a wave of intense determination washed over him. He was _home_ , he was _safe_ , and if he couldn’t think himself into believing it, he was going to eat until he’d _proved_ to himself to believe it. He couldn’t eat all he wanted on the streets, when he needed to be on his feet in fighting survival mode at any given time. Large, luxurious meals meant the opposite of danger. 

Elijah shoveled down another pancake, chewing through the cream and the juiciness of the berries, finding he had to slow down again if only to enjoy the taste of the food in a way he rarely did. He sipped at his glass of milk, refilling his plate once he’d emptied it, and went a little more sparing with the cream cheese so that it would last longer. He probably had some sour cream in the fridge he could use as a topping after this if he ran out. 

Across the table from him, Micah was devouring his stack of four, dribbled liberally with the honey and dotted with blueberries. Elijah was happy to see his friend enjoying the meal they’d made together. No doubt they’d both go right back to sleep after loading up on carbs for the rest of the late morning.

Micah finished with a sigh, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair, with a broad grin and lazy stretch.  
“Man, that was amazing. I’m so glad we didn’t have to eat charcoal for breakfast.” He laughed and picked up his plate, carrying it to the sink as he looked back over his shoulder curiously. “Elijah? Wow, you’re really packin ‘em away, dude.”  
“Mmn.”  
Micah returned to the table, smirking, hands on his hips. “Worried they’re gonna run off?”

Elijah swallowed and gave his friend an amused look, taking another swallow of milk and taking stock of himself. He _was_ full, but not too much, and if he wasn’t going to be able to speak to Micah for the rest of the day, he was at least going to force himself to relax enough that Micah wouldn’t have to worry for a moment that the fear had passed. He filled his plate again and took another bite, swallowing and feeling it settle heavily in his belly. His stomach gurgled faintly and Micah’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Hey, don’t make yourself sick, man.” He put an affectionate hand on Elijah’s shoulder, prompting a reassuring smile. “Okay, if you’re sure you wanna stuff yourself, be my guest. There’s probably too much here to fit in one container anyways.” 

Elijah nodded, cramming in another forkful and chewing, his eyes following Micah as the other young man went and flopped over the couch with a satisfied groan. He rolled onto his back and dug around for the tv remote, flipping on the decrepit TV set in the corner and changing channels until he settled on a nature documentary. Something he knew Elijah liked, who felt his heart warm at the gesture, however small.

He’d reached his tenth pancake when he felt the wall of fullness hit, and he sighed heavily, laying down the fork for a moment and leaning back in his chair, folding a hand over his stomach. There was a definite bulge to his middle, rounded out under the muscles of his abdomen with a respectable amount of soft, starchy food, swollen with milk. He felt like groaning, but didn’t want to alert Micah, who looked half-asleep on the couch and definitely wasn’t aware yet that Elijah was eating himself into a stupor. Besides, it didn’t hurt, not yet, and he’d stop before the point of pain. But he _could_ eat more, it wouldn’t be easy, but he could, and he wanted to. He wanted to push out all thoughts of the terrors on the street, from the inside out.

Elijah straightened up in his chair again, scooping more pancakes onto his plate and refilling his glass. Every bite was an effort now, every swallow felt like it pushed out his stomach even further. He powered through the feeling, forcing himself to chew and swallow despite the motions feeling more like a chore now than a pleasure. His mouth felt dryer, so he drank more milk to help wash everything down. 

He’d blindly plowed through another plateful when a hand on his back startled him, made him jump and dislodged a small belch. He covered his mouth belatedly, then looked up to see Micah looking uncharacteristically stern.  
"Dude, come on, you’re going to give yourself a tummy ache if you keep on like this. This isn’t about the nightmares, is it?”

Elijah shrugged noncommittally and stuffed another bite of cream and dough and berries into his mouth. It almost stuck in his throat when he swallowed, but it was the last bite of his now-empty plate. He pushed it away and pulled the half-full container of blue berries closer, digging out a handful and filling his mouth again. Their juicy texture made swallowing easier, and they hit his stomach like a brick. He groaned despite himself and grabbed another handful.  
“Yeesh. I forget sometimes how much you can eat when you don’t hold back.” Micah commented blandly as he watched Elijah force down more and more blueberries on top of all sixteen pancakes he’d eaten, concern written all over his features. “You know what- _stop_.”

Micah pushed the blueberry carton out of reach, coming around to the front of Elijah’s chair and laying a hand over the rounded dome of his friend’s belly. Elijah groaned again, mindlessly stuffed, falling back in his chair again and trying to think around the weight of his packed stomach. He was so _full_.  
“El, listen to me. I’m not… _upset_ , or mad at you, because you’re not really in a talkative mood today. It’s okay. Goddesses only know what goes down in those alleys after dark that you can’t even talk about, y’know?” Micah’s gaze flitted down and he sighed, reaching for the hem of Elijah’s sleep sweatshirt. “Okay, lets see the damage.”

The swell of his engorged stomach jutted out from just underneath his ribcage, tight and uncomfortable under the muscles of his abdomen. He moaned faintly as Micah placed his hands on either side of his belly, rubbing circles over the taut skin. Laborious digestive sounds gurgled and rumbled all through his gut. There was a sense of a deep, overfull ache, but he’d yet to have any true pains. That luck might not hold out, however. The influx might catch up with him at any moment.   
“Alright, you behemoth. Couch.” Micah ordered, waving away the strained huff he got in response. “Don’t start. We need to get you comfortable before you go food coma. If you fall asleep here and fall out of the chair, that’s gonna suck.”

Elijah climbed to his feet with Micah’s help, groaning as his center of gravity shifted, pulling heavily at his unbelievably stuffed belly. He stumbled over to the couch and laid down at one end, sinking into the cushions and squirming helplessly under the weight of the mass of food inside him. _Oh_ , he had eaten far too much. His eyes shut tightly as a strange burbling sound squeezed through his insides.

“That didn’t sound good.” Micah pointed out helpfully as he sat next to his friend, reaching out once more and placing his hands on his swollen stomach, smoothing his palms over the skin again in a rhythmic, soothing motion. “How much does it hurt?”  
Elijah managed a shake of his head, one hand coming up to clutch at his side, pressing there as if he could relieve the weight at his middle by holding his belly himself.  
“Just really full, then?” Micah worked out, pressing down gently, massaging against the tightness and pressure. Elijah groaned.

The program on the TV in the background transitioned seamlessly to another documentary, jungle sounds and bird calls overshadowed by Elijah’s faint moans and much louder digestive grumbles. Every so often, Micah would murmur something reassuringly.

Finally, the pressure in his belly began to ease up, and he stopped shifting around so much, was able to relax and stretch out a bit more atop the cushions of the sofa. Micah relaxed when he did, smiling softly in relief, still stroking one hand up and down and around his distended stomach.

“Better?”  
“Hmn.” Elijah yawned and put a hand over his own stomach for a moment, feeling the swell of it and relieved to find it had gone down somewhat. He was still impossibly full. He had to bite back another stupefied groan when Micah found a particularly tender place and rubbed carefully to soothe it. He couldn’t believe how much he’d eaten. _Too much_.

He sighed with difficulty and draped his arm over his eyes. His stomach was gurgling now with each heartbeat that thrummed through his belly, and the sounds appeared to amuse Micah, who would chuckle every so often.

“Y’know, maybe it’s stupid…” He started in a small voice, glancing up when Elijah peeked out from under his arm at him. “But aside from worrying that you were gonna make yourself sick, it was kinda… nice, in a way, to see you eat like that. I feel like I hardly ever see you eat til you're really full. I know guys on campus who stuff themselves weekly on pizza, but you… always seem like you’re too tense for that.” He made another soothing circle over his friend’s belly with his palm and smiled again, almost wistful. “It kinda… makes everything feel really safe. Like you’re letting your guard down, for once.”

Elijah nodded pointedly and held Micah’s gaze for a long moment. Then his friend slapped his forehead in astonishment.  
“ _Oh!_ That’s it! _That’s_ what you were doing!”  
Elijah nodded again, stretching a little, the rounded dome of his stomach peeking out from under his shirt a bit more.  
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize that’s what you were after. That makes perfect sense.” Micah looked at the ceiling in vexation. “Sorry, El.”

Elijah made a soft, encouraging noise and held out one arm hopefully, and with a grin, Micah tucked himself into his friend’s strong embrace and nestled there happily. He placed one hand back over Elijah’s belly and patted gently.  
“So I take it you’re ready for a nap?”  
“Mhm.”  
“Yeah. Me too. Today’s gonna be a good day. I can feel it.”


	3. More Than You Bargained For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah eats a thing that he shouldn’t have eaten. Good thing Elijah loves him more than life itself and knows exactly what to do.

The base line reverberated through the air and behind his eyelids. Elijah fidgeted uneasily, knees locked in place as he glanced over the room again and again.

_Threat, threat, threat._

Bodies moved past, all the raunchy glamor of a college party surrounded him, and he wished nothing more than to escape with his sanity still intact. Micah was somewhere in the mix, and was supposed to check in with him every half hour or so, but it was creeping up on forty minutes now and he was beginning to realize that he would have to go and hunt him down this time. They’d been here a few hours anyways, and it was late. Micah probably needed to be seen home.  
Someone shouldered past him and he flinched, his gaze darting to the side and then swiftly away again as he recognized one of the school’s well-known athletes.

_Threat, threat, threat._

The kid was holding a plastic cup and was laughing, waving to someone across the room with a glad shout. He had no interest in Elijah and was only having fun, enjoying himself. He barely noticed that he’d shoved bodily through the crowd.  
Elijah hefted a sigh and shifted his weight. Five more minutes. If Micah didn’t show back up in five more minutes, then he’d-

“ _Elijah!_ ”

Elijah blinked, then opened his arms just in time for a tearful Micah to catapult into them.  
“Micah? Whatever is the matter?” Elijah’s bow creased as he cupped his friend’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking away the tear tracks on his cheeks.  
“Th-there’s-! Someone put gum-!” Micah jerked his thumb towards the top of his scalp. “In m-my hair!”

Elijah gave Micah a level look, lifting his hands to gently part the strands of hair, reaching for his pocket knife to trim away the sticky substance. “Micah, you are very, very drunk. I think it best that we head out for tonight.”

His best friend held still while he removed the offensive piece of gum with as little harm done to his hair as possible, then squinted up at him as though he were struggling with the low light in the room. He was tilting to the side slightly and Elijah knew he’d had enough.   
“I gotta find Sasha first.”  
“Alright. And if you prefer to go home with her, please do. But you need to get some fresh air and some water to drink very soon. Let me know before you leave who you are going with.”

Micah gave him a clumsy thumbs-up before vanishing into the crowd once more, and Elijah stamped down the urge to follow him at a slight distance, if for nothing else than to make sure he didn’t careen headfirst into a table.  
Somewhere in the household, probably the kitchen if he had to guess, something large clattered onto the floor, startling several of the party-goers with the loud noise, including him. His hands tightened into fists and he pressed his wrists together to keep himself from reaching for his knife again.

_Threat, threat, threat._

_“_ Elijah!”

He frowned as another voice called out to him and turned slightly, biting back a grimace when he recognized Valerie. She was drunk beyond reason herself, stumbling up to him with a sly grin, one clawed hand catching precariously at the table. The scales that dotted her cheekbones were very nearly magenta; a rare and prestigious trait in Saurolins, and she had done them up further, with glitter and bright neon mascara to match.   
Elijah tried not to wince as she reached out with attempted coyness to pluck at the buttons of his shirt. Unfortunately, she noticed.

“Aww, what’s wrong big fella? You a prude?” She pushed up into his personal space and he frantically tried to peel her away without seeming too rough. “Or do you just not like girls like me? You’re not a purist, are ya?”  
“Of course not.” He sighed.

Valerie was one of the privileged few of her race, mostly human in appearance with only those few traits that could be considered “exotic.” Elijah had been clawed by many a saurolin, mostly from the other side of barred doors as he heard their screams for help. There was a sibilant quality to their voices. Most who knew Valerie considered that trait to be quite seductive.

Elijah wondered if the girl knew, if she really knew, what the climate of Central City was like for someone like her with a little less privilege than she. He wondered about her parents - also well-respected people - if they knew. If they did, he wondered what they had done, what favors and secrets they had traded, to get this station in life. To get this house. To have the wealth that they did.

“Come on, just one kiss for your hostess?” She wheedled, sliding one manicured claw under his jacket and hooking her fingernail over his belt. He flinched and finally pulled her off forcefully, no more hedging and hesitant pushes.  
“Valerie, _enough_. Phillip is around here somewhere, isn’t he? You should be with him, not pushing yourself on me.”  
“Oh? I’m not pushing at all, love- in fact, I think I feel a little faint.” She batted her neon lashes, trying to limply drape herself over his arm. “Maybe you could help me to the couch?”

_Threat, threat, threat._

Elijah gritted his teeth, reaching over and grabbing a plastic cup, scooping up ice from the nearby tureen.  
“Here.” he offered, willing his voice to sound pleasant and kind. _She’s only a girl_. He reminded himself. _Innocently enjoying a party. She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s doing_. “Getting hydrated will help. Suck on these.” He held the cupful of ice cubes out to her.

“Oh I _intend_ to.” She growled almost wickedly, and Elijah shuddered as he realized the verbal trap he’d walked into. He set the cup back down on the table within her reach none too gently and fled the area as swiftly as he dared. He needed to just find Micah and go home.

The strobe lights were starting to give him a headache, and he hadn’t even been _drinking_ ; he tried to shake the confusion away as he weaved through the crowd, looking for Micah with a growing sense of panic. A hand planted itself suddenly in the middle of his back, and he jumped, stiffened, snapping to attention, ready to shred the enemy as soon as-  
“ _Easy_ there, Elijah. Careful, big guy. It’s just me.”

_Sasha. Safe._

“Sasha?” He croaked out, shaking a little with the sense of adrenaline draining away as he looked down over his shoulder and relaxed further upon seeing the slight figure of the young avesian. “You startled me.”  
“Yeah, I noticed.” She laughed gently. She was a little buzzed herself, but there was more reason in her eyes than most of the other students packed into the room. Her wings fluttered slightly as she looked up at him curiously. “Sorry about that. What are you up to?”

“I am looking for your boyfriend.” Elijah replied dryly, shaking his head. “He told me that he was leaving to look for _you_ , not long ago. Have you seen him?”  
“Nah, not since the pool game. Did you want to take him home?”  
“I just want him to leave the party. He is immensely drunk, and I am concerned for him. If you would like to take him home tonight, I would be glad for it.”

Sasha smiled and shook her head. “He and I have spent most of the last month together, and I’m actually having my girlfriends over tonight when they’re done at their parties. He wants some time with you, I think. Besides, if he’s gonna be sick and throwing up, he’ll feel more comfortable at your place than over in the middle of a busy condo. When you say ‘immensely drunk,’ do you mean-”

“I highly doubt he will escape being sick, yes.” Elijah sighed faintly. Sasha patted his back again.  
“That check-in thing you two were going to do didn’t work?”  
“Not in the slightest. He was barely tipsy forty minutes ago, then I saw him again and he looked ready to fall over. I haven’t the faintest what he must have drunk in that timespan.”

Sasha turned her head and looked around the room, brushing his arm with her wing in a comforting gesture. “Well… in that case, have you checked the bathroom?”  
“Oh.” Elijah felt his heart sink. “I did not think of that.”  
“Probably worth a look.” Sasha smiled and stood on her toes, and Elijah obligingly leaned over, letting her peck his cheek.   
“Thanks for taking care of him, El.”  
“I should thank you for the same thing. I suppose we will see you in class next week?”  
“Absolutely.” Sasha smiled and waved as he turned away from the crowd, heading to a dark back hallway.

He checked a few different bathrooms in the massive house, one was occupied by a girl whose boyfriend was waiting outside, one was empty, and in the last - was Micah - brutally vomiting into the toilet with pained tears in his eyes.

“Micah…” Elijah murmured sadly as he shut the door behind himself, having picked it open with a paperclip. He crossed the room in two steps and knelt beside his friend, putting his arms around him, one hand on his back, one on his stomach.  
“Elijah I c-can’t, I-“ Micah broke off to gag forcefully and heave up another wave of vomit, shaking and coughing at the end. “H-help-“  
“Just try to breathe.” Elijah whispered softly, rubbing his friend’s back soothingly, tucking his other hand beneath Micah’s shirt to cradle his gurgling stomach with his warm hand, hoping the contact would help with the pain. “Breathe and let it happen, you’ll feel better.”

“I wanna go home…” Micah whimpered, bending forward to throw up again. He’d definitely been snacking, but in a way, Elijah was glad he hadn’t loaded up on alcohol on an empty stomach. Even if he threw it all up now, he might not feel as bad later.  
“I am going to take you home as soon as you’re finished.” Elijah reassured him quietly, reaching up to ruffle his friend’s hair, sweeping it back from where it was sticking to his forehead with sweat, before dropping his hand to continue rubbing his back. 

It was a while before the heaving finally slowed and Micah was only coughing up bits of fluid, clinging weakly to the toilet seat as Elijah massaged his shoulders and rubbed his belly carefully in an attempt to comfort him. Elijah stood to flush one last time, digging around in the cabinet under the sink until he found some small plastic bathroom cups, filling one with water and then helping Micah take slow sips.

“You need water and sleep.” Elijah told Micah softly, holding him close with one arm and helping him to balance the cup with the other. Micah leaned against his shoulder, shaking and panting, looking glassy-eyed and confused. Elijah began to worry that Micah had seriously overdone it this time.

They crept out of the bathroom and Elijah unapologetically shoved their way to the front, not letting anyone get a close enough look at Micah to make any cruel remarks. Once outside, the cool air seemed to help, and Elijah kept giving Micah ice cubes from a cup he’d swiped on their way out the door.

They boarded the late bus and he held his friend close, keeping him snug against his chest while he rubbed and patted his back rhythmically. Halfway home, Micah began to gag and tearfully whispered that he felt like he’d throw up again, but Elijah handed him the empty cup and kept patting.  
“It is alright, Micah, you don’t have anything left in your stomach. You do not have to worry about making a mess.”

Micah spat into the cup a few times, sniffling a little in misery, and Elijah held on tightly to him, eyes sad but comforting whispers on his lips. When they reached Elijah’s apartment, he nearly carried Micah up the steps and through the door, setting him down on the couch and handing him a wastebasket.

“Stay here for just a moment, then we’ll get you moved into the bathroom, alright?” Elijah waited until he’d gotten a sickly nod before rising again and heading for the linens closet. He pulled down a couple of blankets and pillows, then went into the bathroom, arranging a small pallet on the floor, leaning against the side of the tub. He made sure there was plenty of toilet paper on the roll and filled a water bottle with ice and an electrolyte drink, setting it within easy reach of the pallet. 

Elijah went back to the other room, lifted Micah in his arms, carried him into the bathroom and laid him down. He helped him to arrange semi-comfortably on the pillows and sat next to him, pushing his shirt up to his ribs and placing his palm over his friend’s bloated belly. He began to rub soothingly, offering a sympathetic smile when Micah pried his eyes open to look at him blearily.  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Like s-shit.” Micah stuttered, coughing once. He sank further back into the cushions with a faint moan, squeezing his eyes shut once more. “Tummy fucking _hurts_.”

“I know. I am sorry I lost track of you. It would seem that thirty minutes is too long of a gap after all.” Elijah mused, pressing his fingertips down against a pocket of air burbling through Micah’s lower belly. His friend hiccuped once, then burped wetly, but didn’t lunge for the toilet.  
“Everything feels… fuzzy…”

“I think you need to rehydrate as much as possible and get some sleep. Here-” Elijah picked up the bottle of electrolyte water and helped Micah take a few sips before laying him back down.  
“You’re not going anywhere, right?” Micah whimpered and Elijah firmly shook his head.  
“Of course not. I will be right here if you need anything.” He put his hand back over Micah’s soft stomach to keep massaging the pain away, and they stayed like that until they both fell asleep.

* * *

 

When Micah woke up, it was to a splitting headache and a sense of confusion. He blinked a few times and turned his head to the side, realizing he’d been sleeping on a stack of pillows in Elijah’s bathroom. Elijah was there, propped up in an uncomfortable-looking position against the wall, his hand resting over Micah’s own belly. He was sound asleep.

A strange sort of fuzziness was clinging to his thoughts, and Micah tried to shake his head, dust the feeling away, but the movement only caused a spike of pain and he groaned aloud.

The sound woke Elijah, who stirred slightly, blinking and yawning. He looked over to Micah and his friend’s hand twitched lightly on his stomach before he began to rub carefully in circles again. Micah couldn’t bite back a strained sigh of relief.  
“Do you need me to step out?”

Micah shook his head slightly, grimacing, knowing Elijah was referring to his tendency to spend a lot of time in the bathroom after a night of heavy drinking, but for some reason the urge was strangely absent at the moment.  
“No, I… I’m not sure what the fuck is wrong with me but I-“ Micah’s breath hitched and Elijah looked at him worriedly. “Fuck, I… everything feels so fuzzy and weird. I… I’m kind of scared, El…”

Elijah rose to his knees in a moment, moving closer to Micah’s head and upper body swiftly. He felt his forehead, obligingly letting Micah cling to one hand while he continued checking him over, taking his pulse.  
“Do you remember what you drank last night, Micah? Or do you remember eating anything strange?”

“I… I can’t remember _anything_ \- Wait, okay, I remember being there at the party but…“ He blinked, tears springing to his eyes as a blackness shrouded his thoughts. “It’s… it all goes black like halfway in…”  
“What does your stomach feel like?” Elijah asked, placing one hand back over Micah’s bloated tummy, stroking softly, pressing down with the pads of his fingers and looking contemplative.  
“Not like it usually does after parties…” Micah whispered dazedly, turning his head further into the pillow beneath him. “Shit I- I don’t even feel _sick_. Just a little sore…”

Elijah’s brow creased and Micah felt a spike of fear in his chest. His friend quickly reached down and brushed at his hair soothingly.  
“No, don’t be frightened Micah, I am just trying to figure out what might be going on. I think you might have eaten something unusual last night but I do not think you are in any danger. Just try to relax for a moment. This might seem a bit odd, but I am going to listen to your stomach, alright?”

“…Alright.” Micah mumbled hesitantly, but he wasn’t as scared now that Elijah had said he didn’t need to freak out yet. He tried to hold still as Elijah carefully shifted and lowered his head, pressing his ear to Micah’s belly, his facial hair tickling at his waist. The weight of his friend’s head was comforting in a way. Micah giggled a bit when Elijah pressed on the side of his stomach with one hand and made it gurgle quietly. Then the laughter suddenly seemed misplaced. Everything felt like it was happening at a distance…

“Hmm.” Elijah murmured after a long moment, lifting his head from Micah’s tummy and reaching over to pick his friend up in his arms.   
“Where’re you taking me?” Micah half-slurred in surprise, blinking as he was lifted from the floor. Elijah’s movements were careful but the worry was starting to creep back into his face.  
“I have a suspicion. I think I can confirm it by bringing you to the window in the living room.”  
He said nothing further, but as soon as they left the bathroom and headed towards the armchair, Micah gasped in pain and bewilderment.

The entire room, awash in sunlight, almost seemed to dance and swirl around them like some kind of nightmare. Bright color, a prismatic rainbow, glanced off every surface and intensified the headache. A moan left his lips that ended in a whimper and Elijah looked down at him in concern.  
“What do you see, Micah?”  
“Too many fucking colors!” Micah smeared away the dampness on his cheeks and burrowed into Elijah’s chest when he sat with him on the big, comfy chair under the window. “What the _fuck!_ ”

He felt Elijah shift, letting go of him with one arm, and heard a rustling sound before his friend answered.  
“You can open your eyes again, Micah, I’ve closed the curtain.”

When Micah peered out again, the room looked much better. There was still a faint hint of a glow from the window, which scattered a few rainbows here and there over the carpet, but the painful intensity was gone. He looked into Elijah’s unreadable expression as his friend’s hand came to rest on his belly again, rubbing lightly.  
“Micah, I think you ate something last night that was laced with moonbeacon.”

Micah’s jaw dropped.  
“No fucking way.”  
“Yes. Unfortunately, the drug tends to linger on the stomach lining if ingested. I don’t think you actually digested anything from last night, I think the MB inhibited your system from processing anything, and then you threw most of it up before we arrived home.”

“It’s still in me?” Micah almost shrieked, making a grab for his stomach but was deftly fended off by Elijah’s broad hand. “How long am I going to be stuck being high off this shit?”  
“It is alright, calm down. I have something on hand that can neutralize MB and help the body eliminate it if taken with a meal high in fats. Unfortunately, you may have to eat quite a bit to achieve the desired effect. You said you weren’t feeling nauseous, however?”

“Not really…” Micah agreed reluctantly, settling back in Elijah’s embrace. “But I don’t want to end up sick from eating my weight in crap, either.”  
“I am not going to make you eat ‘crap,’ Micah.” A hint of amusement flickered in Elijah’s blue eyes. “I was thinking chicken soup, cooked to retain a bit more of the oil. Do you think you can handle that?”  
“Don’t think I have much choice.” Micah mumbled grumpily, and he must have sounded quite pitiful, because Elijah leaned over to press a very soft kiss to the top of his forehead.  
“As long as we manage to clear your system out today, you should not have to worry about any lasting effects.”

Elijah got up from the couch after arranging Micah atop the cushion, stepping away for a moment and returning with a blanket that he tucked over him. He left again, this time towards the adjacent kitchen unit, quickly gathering ingredients as well as taking something out of the medicine cabinet.

Micah dozed on and off while Elijah cooked, shifting restlessly with a sense of nervousness thrumming just underneath his skin that felt completely unnatural. When his eyes were closed he saw strange shapes and colors, but he couldn’t keep them open for long. The intense fuzziness of the world around him refused to let up.  
Finally, he heard his friend sinking down onto the armrest beside him, and he opened his eyes when he caught a whiff of a tempting, savory aroma. Elijah helped him sit up with a pillow at his back and handed him a tray with a full bowl and a spoon.

“Eat this as quickly as you can without making yourself uncomfortable. When you are finished, you’ll need to take two of these caplets with water.” His friend shook a pill bottle in his hand slightly. “After you have taken these, you will need to eat another bowl, and then we will open the curtain again. We will know the antidote has taken effect when the light no longer looks fractured and colorful to you.”

Micah sighed as he nodded, stirring the bowl of soup slightly before taking his first bite. The food was warm, pleasant but not too hot, and had a thick broth along with soft noodles and slivers of chicken. He didn’t feel hungry at all, but not full either, and he grimaced at the thought of moonbeacon sludge sticking to the inside of his gut. He scooped up another bite quickly and steadily worked his way through the meal.  
When he drank the last of the liquid from the bottom of the bowl, he leaned back with a faint groan. Now he _did_ feel full, quite so, at that. It wasn’t a small amount of soup he’d been given, and he still had to eat another helping of it. He was beginning to worry that maybe he couldn’t manage it after all.

“Alright, take these.” Elijah told him, putting two white pills in his hand and handing him a cup of water. Micah eyed them curiously for a moment before tossing them to the back of his tongue and gulping at the water, shifting in discomfort with the sensation. The liquid hit his already-full stomach with a weird sloshy feeling, and he felt his belly tighten. He groaned again as Elijah returned with the refilled soup bowl.

“I don’t know if I can, El.” He tried to protest, leaning limply on his friend when Elijah sat close to his side and put an arm around him. His friend moved the tray out a little bit, enough so that he could put his warm hand against Micah’s distended stomach. He began to rub in circles, pressing on his sides a little until Micah surprised himself with a deep belch.

“I know you are feeling full now, but if you do not take in enough fats to bind the antidote to the drug, you may deal with bouts of repeated illness until your body clears the drug out more gradually. We will take it very easy until you are feeling better. I can massage your stomach and bring you a heating pad as well, if you like.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably need it.” Micah sighed, picking up the spoon again and determinedly digging back into the food. He felt swollen with the soup, belly tight and heavy, pushing out in front of him in what was surely a comical fashion, but maybe he was over imagining things based on how stuffed he felt. Elijah rubbed his tummy soothingly the whole way through, working up the occasional burp or hiccup that helped to clear some room, but not by much. 

Halfway through, it became a genuine struggle. Micah paused between every bite, huffing a little every third breath. He began picking out the solid bits of food, laboriously chewing and swallowing, deciding to just drink the broth to finish. His belly felt so tight and he was so _full_ , but finally he swallowed the last piece of chicken and reached out to pick up the bowl to drink the rest.

When he moved however, a sharp pain pulsed through the center of his stomach, pulling him up short with a miserable groan. Elijah pressed down gently against the hot, throbbing spot, stroking rhythmically, his massage incredibly soothing.

“Stomachache?” He asked sympathetically, clearly wishing he didn’t have to urge Micah on. Micah nodded, leaning his head back on his friend’s broad hip and taking a deep breath that twinged painfully in his abdomen.  
“Yeah, just…ooh. Just give me a minute.”  
“Of course.”

Elijah rubbed and comforted his stomach while Micah tried to take steady, deep breaths, willing the ache to ease up, and with his friend’s help, it slowly did. He still felt almost delirious from fullness but maybe, just maybe, he could muscle the rest of the broth down. With a sense of determination, he sat back up, picked up the bowl, and chugged down the last of the soup as quickly as he could.

Elijah caught his head and neck as he rocked back with a deeply pained groan.   
“Alright, take deep breaths Micah. You did very well, you can relax now.”  
“Don’t open the curtain yet.” Micah pleaded, and Elijah shook his head.  
“No, we will wait until you are feeling a bit better first.” He took the soup bowl and tray away and came back with a hot water bottle.

Micah clutched the warmth to his waist as Elijah carefully scooped him up, settling back down with him in his lap. His hand came to rest on his upper belly again, circling the swell of his stuffed tummy carefully, working up more of those tiny burps and hiccups. Micah’s stomach really did hurt now, aching all over with sharper twinges and pains every so often. He wouldn’t have known what to do with himself without Elijah’s comfort, his friend’s warm, rough palm smoothing out the pain and easing the terribly stuffed feeling that probably would have made him nauseous if he’d been anywhere else.

After about half an hour had passed, and Micah was just about ready to drop off, he felt Elijah prod his belly gently and he cracked one eye open with effort.  
“If you are ready, we can open the curtain and see if the medicine has taken effect.” Elijah said softly, and Micah nodded with a sigh. He braced himself as Elijah pushed back the fabric from the sill, squinting into the light, and waited a few seconds.

“There’s still rainbows, but they aren’t nearly as bad.” Micah murmured, glancing around the room. He looked back at Elijah when the other young man breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. It seems to have done the trick.” Elijah laid back a little more, stretching them both out into a comfortable, relaxed position. He began to massage yet again, which now was not only helping with the intense feeling of fullness, but was beginning to feel almost pleasurable. Micah sighed deeply and relaxed, closing his eyes.  
“I think we need to move the check-in time down to twenty minutes.”  
Micah hummed slightly, then chuckled as Elijah suddenly curled protectively around him, wrapping him up with both arms and putting his chin over his curls, his hands never leaving the expanse of his bloated tummy. “You worried about me?”  
“Always.”

The answer startled Micah, who blinked and opened his eyes again, his gaze darting up to look at Elijah’s reflection in the window. His big, strong friend was holding him so close, but almost as if he feared Micah would break, his hold was so gentle. His brow was drawn in something like sadness. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and there were circles underneath them.

Micah always feared for Elijah’s safety, never knowing what new wounds or scars he would show back up with after disappearing into the streets for days at a time. He’d never thought about Elijah having any reason to be scared for _him_. Micah wasn’t in a gang. He didn’t wander the streets.

A sudden, terrible thought constricted Micah’s chest.

Elijah’s sister hadn’t been in a gang. His parents hadn’t been in a gang. His childhood friends hadn’t been in gangs.  
And look what had happened to them.

Micah swallowed hard, knowing that if anything happened to him, Elijah would probably give up entirely. He had lost everything once, and now he had made Micah his everything. Of course he was worried about him. 

“‘M sorry.” Micah said softly, turning a bit with only a faint groan for the discomfort in his still-bloated belly. Elijah moved his hand so he could keep rubbing, but hummed softly in deep affection when Micah wrapped his arms around his neck and cuddled closer to him. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’ll watch what I put in my fucking mouth, next time.”

The swear startled a chuckle out of Elijah, and Micah grinned, burying his face in his friend’s shoulder.

The sunlight, no longer fractured and no longer painful, warmed the couch where they both soon slept. 


	4. Cheaper By The Dozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donuts are good. Five donuts, massively overloaded with frostings and decorations, in one sitting, are perhaps not ideal!

Elijah waited, forehead against the glass pane, breath fogging against the sill.

The walk to class had been rather damp. Or rather, he’d been caught directly in the breaking summer storm, and found it unimportant to hurry out of it. It was quiet in the rain. The falling sheets of water closed off all but one’s immediate surroundings; the cascade, the curtain, dulled the sounds of the city, chased the ghosts of footsteps off the streets. He even found himself pausing, waiting, and the rain swallowed him whole, wrapped him in a shroud, and shut him blissfully away, alone and quiet on the crowded sidewalk.

Of course, before long, he’d had to surrender to the cold, drenched clothes and the rivulets of water stinging his eyes. He’d ducked into the science building, before reaching up to the tie in his long, black hair and pulling it loose. The soaked strands spilled down his shoulder and back, and he combed his fingers through, flicking out some of the water as he did. He drew the cuff of his sleeve over his forehead, smearing away the drops that had collected on his brow. He was dripping onto the linoleum floor.

The lab-based discussion wasn’t due to begin for another half hour, so he let himself drip, tucking himself into a corner by the window so he could wait and watch for Micah’s arrival.

The rain continued outdoors, and the deluge streamed down the windows, sidewalks and gutters. It bellowed in the storm drains and washed away scent and sound and sense. It drowned the world in thundering, rolling, unrelenting quiet.

“Elijah, you’re fucking drenched.”  
He startled, blinked, then turned around and gave Micah a reproachful look.  
“How long have you been here? I thought you would come in the front?”  
“Well, obviously I came in the back.” Micah laughed, lifting his hands commandingly and Elijah obediently bent down, letting his friend rake his hands through his hair vigorously. “The fuck did you do, jump in the lake before sauntering over here in the rain? You’re gonna be soaking wet for the entire discussion!”

“Forgot an umbrella.” Elijah muttered with a sigh, straightening up and retying his hair when Micah let go of him to place his hands on his hips. “I actually think the discussion is likely to drag on for several hours. I will be very surprised if I am not mostly dry by the end of it.”  
“Yeah but you’ll be all wet and cold! Shit, you’ll probably _catch_ cold.”  
“It is not impossible but I doubt it.”

Micah rolled his eyes with a groan and snagged Elijah by the crook of his elbow, pulling him towards the back hallway with the bathrooms. After a bit of resistance, Elijah took off his backpack and knelt down to let Micah ruffle his hair under the hand-dryer, then hesitantly peeled off his outer shirt and dried that as well. He shook water out of his shoes into the sink and dried his socks, quickly redressing before anyone else slipped through the door to see the exposed scars on his upper arms and neck.

They made it to the lab a good seven minutes early, Micah feeling pleased and Elijah feeling a bit less soaked. Some of their discussion group members were already there, milling about and talking, and the two of them claimed seats near the front of the classroom as the room continued to fill.

“So… did you read the paper?” Micah asked overly-casually, fiddling with a pencil in his hand as he avoided his friend’s gaze.  
Elijah gave him a look, however futile, and shook his head in fond resignation. “Yes. Do you want a summary or a list of important points?”

Micah’s only answer was a grin, and Elijah looked at the ceiling briefly. “Very well. The big picture I believe our instructor wants us to address is if it is possible for limbal stem cells to reverse corneal degeneration or injury through transplantation and the restoration of the avascular epithelium.”  
“Can you translate?”  
“There are naturally regenerating cells in the structure of the eye. The paper was addressing the possibility that these cells could be used in transplants for people who have injured eyes, to see if they can be repaired to the point where sight could be restored.”

Micah jotted down a couple of lines of notes on the paper in front of him before looking back to Elijah. “What do you think?”  
“I think the journal was very direct. There were studies listed where it has, in fact, already been done; it just hasn’t been standardized yet, and the results have varied quite a bit across the board.”  
“So what’s the discussion going to be?”  
“Probably whether or not it’s better to devote resources to studying this method, and its uncertain successes thus far, or if surgical repair will continue to prove the most viable option.”  
“So what do you think about _that?_ ”  
“I think there’s no sense in going all for one or all for the other. That’s the general pattern of these discussions, after all. Researching a new method, especially a less invasive one, is nothing but beneficial, but giving up all progress on surgical repairs would leave many people wanting in the interim.”

Elijah stifled a yawn behind his hand as Micah leaned back further in his seat. “Okay, sounds like it’s gonna be another drag, then. I’m not gonna get heated on this one, I swear.”  
Elijah quirked a brow at him wordlessly.  
Micah crossed his arms. “I _mean it_ this time.”

-

“No! No you don’t-“ Micah seethed, pressing his fingertips to his forehead before throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “You’re not _listening_ to me! What’s gonna happen to all the poor sods who can’t risk surgery because of _other reasons?_ ”

“If surgery gets less intense and has better results overall with more research then it’s not gonna be the ordeal that it is currently, dumbass!” Another student gestured emphatically and a third pointed back at the same, re-hashed bullet points on the board that the entire group had put together.  
“Yeah but that would take years to develop theoretically and it’s just not-!”  
“ _Anything_ in medicine takes years to develop!”

Elijah stared at a periodic table on the far wall tiredly, then flinched and glanced up when someone patted his shoulder.  
“Any requests? We’re sneaking out for snacks!”

He glanced back towards the podium where the instructor was giving his full attention to the riveting, circular argument unfolding in the front row between the the most vocal students in the class.  
“None for me, but here-“ He dug in his pocket, pulling out a five Ren piece and handed it to the girl. “Micah will want something.”

Eventually, the instructor stepped in, redirecting the discussion back to the original topic, at which point Micah gave up the fight to the few students who were even more passionately argumentative than him, and plopped back into his seat next to Elijah, leaning casually against his friend’s broad shoulder with a groan.

“I’m so sick of this shit. How long have we been in here?”  
“About three hours.”  
“Ugh, what is even the _point_ of these things?”  
“Likely to entertain the professor and allow him to feel superior as he watches his students devolve into madness over topics they will not remember a word of the following week.”  
Micah blinked at him once.  
“However, if judged by the syllabus, then it is to give us a gauge for how scientific discussions are carried out and important topics are addressed through peer review.”  
“There’s no way these clown fests look even remotely like a real academic review.”  
“One would hope.”

Micah crumpled his marked-up paper and tossed it in the bin nearby, discreetly shifting in his seat and pressing a hand to his stomach when it growled faintly but insistently.  
“I’m bout to just say ‘fuck it’ and ditch the whole thing. I’m starving and I have like three papers to write for other classes.”  
“A small group of our classmates went out for snacks a short while ago. I imagine that once they return with those, the discussion will taper off slightly and come to a end before too long.”  
“Aw shit! I didn’t give them anything!”  
“I did, Micah. I didn’t ask them what they were going to pick up, however - just told them that you would like something.”  
Micah grinned at him and Elijah ruffled his hair with a smirk.  
“Thanks, El.”

The topic at the front of the room shifted a couple more times; Elijah held out hope despite the fact that the block of lab time was restricted to five hours at the most, the debaters of the class would wear themselves out sooner rather than later.

When the escapees returned with the promised “snacks” however, he was a little taken aback. Over the course of several minutes he watched several broad white boxes being toted in through the back door of the classroom, then passed around to the students who were seated, whispers and giggles flitting about. Wherever had his classmates found so much food for a small wad of pocket cash from the group?

When a box was finally passed to him and an eager Micah, he leaned over and whispered, more out of curiosity than anything else. “What is this? Where did it come from?”  
“The student center was having some kind of event that no one showed up to.” Came the reply, laden with quiet laughter. “They were selling off boxes of these things for almost nothing! Here-“

And to his horror, before he could protest, the girl passed a stack of two pastries directly to him out of the box she was holding in her other hand. He opened his mouth to refuse them but she was already turning away, creeping none-too-sneakily over to the next table.

Elijah glanced down to the food in his hand with nothing short of disgust. They were donuts; thick, doughy confections absolutely sagging under the weight of frosting and glaze smeared over their tops. Candies, cookies, and bits of flavored cereal had been crammed into an unappetizing crust over each one. He shot a futile look in the direction of the trashcan, but there were students standing between him and the receptacle now.

He resigned himself to simply holding them awkwardly, in the hopes that he could just throw them away on his way out of the classroom. But as the minutes dragged on and the sticky mess began to melt over his fingers, his irritation got the best of him. He grit his teeth, then lifted the first donut to his mouth and took a bite.

It was _so_ sweet.  
He almost gagged, but managed to determinedly chew through the mouthful, swallowing the sugar sludge down with a shudder before taking another bite. The taste was cloying, revolting. It coated his mouth and tongue, muddled the textures that might have otherwise been pleasant into a slurry. It was saccharine and utterly sickening.

Elijah finished off the first donut and tried to cram the next one down as quickly as possible to get it over with and empty his mouth of the taste. The two pastries had different icings and toppings, and maybe there was a hint of something differently flavored between the two, but it was lost in the onslaught of sugar. When he’d choked down the last bite, he grabbed the water bottle by his desk and sipped from it, swishing the water around his teeth and swallowing repeatedly. A wave of nausea hit him within moments and he bit back a groan, willing the churning of his stomach to ease up. Sticky sweetness clung to his throat, creeping up to the back of his tongue. His insides burbled uncomfortably and he suppressed a grimace, hoping no one had heard it, when, blessedly, the professor finally stopped trying to ignore the stash of food being unashamedly passed around the classroom.  
The man laughed it off and called a close to the debate. Sighs of relief fluttered through the room, and then the shuffling of chairs, slamming of notebooks, and chatter of voices began to fill the space.

Micah had paid little attention to what was going on in class once he’d gotten his hands on one of the boxes of donuts. Beaming, he’d taken out three, turned to pass the box on to the next table, then had found that everyone had already gotten their share. Delighted, he settled back down with the box and began to savor the treats inside, looking each one over with fascination.

They’d clearly been crafted with other kinds of desserts in mind; this one was dark chocolate, coated with cookie pieces and caramel icing. That one had a glaze that could only be described as milky, with the familiar square shapes of his favorite crunch cereal that he’d enjoyed most as a kid. He bit into each one and found the outside appearances were not misleading in the slightest. They _did_ taste like cookies, or wedges of fine apple pie - the crunchy one most definitely reminded him of Saturday mornings in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal on his lap. And best of all, this version didn’t get soggy!

The donuts themselves were heavy, but not tough; soft enough to be enjoyable to chew but light enough to be complemented nicely by the sweet glazes and flavor accents of chocolate chips, bits of pecans, or strands of gummy candies.

Micah had plowed through four in delight and had started a fifth when _finally_ , the class was dismissed. They were just so easy to eat! Each bite was airy, chewy, and crunchy all in one go, and the sweetness of the pastries lingered on his tongue, encouraging him to fill his mouth again to savor it. When the class ended, he reached for his notebook, clutching the remains of his fifth donut in his other hand, when he realized how sharply the button of his jeans was digging into his belly.

With a twinge of regret, Micah paused to tuck his shirt in further so the swell of his bloated stomach might not be as noticeable. Only then did he pause and realize how many of the desserts he’d eaten, and as he stood from his chair, he stuffed the last few bites of his fifth one back into the box, closed it, and shoved it away.

He’d eaten too fast again. He’d been hungry, and he wasn’t paying attention, and he had enjoyed himself a bit too much. But even Elijah had eaten a couple, and he usually didn’t seem to like sweets! They had just been so good! He was uncomfortable with fullness for now, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before his stomach would begin cramping and he’d be nursing an ache for the rest of the evening. Maybe they could get out of there before the worst of it hit.

“Hey El.” He mumbled, feeling comforted a little already when his best friend stepped closer to him and leaned down slightly to hear him better over the noise of the emptying classroom. “I um… ate too fast again. Can I come over to your place tonight?”

Elijah’s brow creased in worry and he put an arm around him, his fingers pressing subtly to Micah’s side, gentle and soothing. His face fell when he felt the bulge of Micah’s tummy, and he nodded.  
“Of course. Are you feeling ill?”  
“Not yet.” Micah moaned regretfully, pressing a hand to his middle unashamedly. “But I feel like it’s gonna be a bad one.”  
“How many did you eat? I was not paying attention either.”

“Five.” Micah squirmed as Elijah’s brow rose in shock and tried to protest. “They were so good! I couldn’t help myself.”  
“Calm down, try not to get upset, you’ll make yourself feel worse, Micah.” Elijah’s voice was soft and filled with concern, and Micah leaned into the hold when he was wrapped in one arm again and pulled towards the door of the classroom. When he turned his face away to watch his steps on the stairs, Elijah pressed two fingers over his lips and swallowed hard, once.

Outside, the cold humidity from the recent rainstorm was a blessing. Micah began to clutch at his stomach with pain by the time they were waiting at the bus stop, and ignoring the odd looks the action might have drawn, Elijah drew him into a full hug, placing one palm over his friend’s bloated tummy, beginning to rub gently in circles.

“I ate too much…” Micah couldn’t help a pitiful whine as he struggled not to bend over where he stood, and he felt Elijah tighten his embrace, practically holding him off the ground himself.  
“Shh, just try to take deep breaths. We will be home in fifteen minutes. It’s alright, Micah, it’s alright.”

Once they were seated on the bus, Micah was able to curl up in abject misery against Elijah’s side, who kept carefully pressing out the twinges and pains in the swell of his stomach for him. He also smoothed his other hand down his back, rubbing against the tenseness of the muscles there, and Micah drank in the comfort for all it was worth. The sugar was starting to twist painfully in his gut and he had to swallow back nausea more than once. The loud cacophony of voices on the bus drowned out the unpleasant gurgling in his belly, but the cramps were getting worse and he was fighting back tears of distress.

Elijah held him close in a cuddle, kept murmuring reassurances in his ear, and Micah buried his cheek against his friend’s solid chest. Ooh, he had such a stomachache, and it would probably get worse before it got better. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Elijah cradle and soothe him, wishing the bus ride away so they could get home faster.

He managed to pull himself together long enough to stagger off the bus at their stop, then let Elijah wind his arm around him to half-drag, half carry him up to the apartment door.

He fell on the couch as soon as the door closed behind them, moaning aloud in pain as his hands rose to clutch at his belly again. Elijah followed him to the cushions, sitting beside him and propping him up carefully. His warm, rough hands immediately began smoothing over the surface of his swollen tummy, and Micah undid the waistband of his jeans to loosen the clenching in his middle.

“I’m sorry, Micah, just try to relax and take it easy.” Elijah murmured dejectedly, rubbing and comforting as best he could when Micah whimpered and clutched at a pillow with one hand.  
“It hurts…”  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Elijah leaned forward and kissed his forehead softly, his fingers circling over Micah’s navel with a tender pressure. “Wait here, I am going to get out the hot water bottle and some tea, alright?”  
“But it hurts!” Micah moaned as soon as Elijah’s hand left his tummy, pressing his own palms deeply into his middle as he curled on his side, his eyes dampening as he bit his lip.

Elijah moved through the kitchen swiftly, sticking a pot of water over the flame he struck at the stove in one swift motion, pulling open a cabinet over his head and retrieving a lemon tea bag. As he set a mug to steep, he suddenly paused, pressing two fingers over his lips and swallowing hard, grimacing. Then he picked up the hot water bottle and filled it from the boiling pot. He returned to the couch in record time, pulling Micah up to cuddle into his chest again.

Micah felt the heat of the water bottle press against his side and immediately loosen the tight, aching muscles in his sickly belly. He moaned again, this time in relief, arching into the touch slightly when Elijah placed his hand back over his stomach and pressed down again, rubbing all over to relieve the cramps.

Micah accepted the mug of lemon tea and sipped slowly, the tension leaking out of him as the warm, tangy liquid trickled down his throat, chasing away the sweetness still lingering from his snack binge. Oh, it felt so good to have that soothing, quelling warmth, both inside and out. He relaxed, and felt Elijah breathe a sigh of relief, and slowly, ever so slowly, the sharp pains and uncomfortable rumblings of his stomach began to ease.

After about an hour, he sighed deeply, turning to wrap his arms around Elijah in a needy hug, letting his friend slide the empty mug onto the nearby table. He kept hold of the water bottle, but preferred Elijah’s hand, uncertain until his friend moved the heat pack to his lower back and covered his tummy more fully with his palm. The way he rubbed at Micah’s bloated stomach now was more soothing than ever; since the cramps and sharp aches were gone, he stroked and patted slowly and indulgently.

“Are you feeling any better, Micah?” Elijah asked softly, and Micah smiled tearfully at the warm hope in his best friend’s deep voice.  
“Yeah, a lot. Thank you…” He sighed as his forehead was kissed again. He felt better with every act of tender attention, but Elijah seemed to seek comfort in them as well.  
“That was quite a lot of sugar at once. Even for you.”

Micah couldn’t help but laugh at that, groaning a bit with a hiccup when his tummy protested the disturbance. Elijah smoothed his palm down his side reassuringly, chasing away the twinge. “What can I say? They were so good! You saw all those flavors, right? It was hard even choosing which ones to try!”  
“I do hope you’ll try to be a bit more careful if and when you manage to find the place that makes them.”  
“You’re not gonna help me look?”  
“Absolutely not.”

Micah fell asleep not long later, curled against Elijah’s broad chest, the last of the tension leaving him as he collapsed into drowsiness. It was only early evening, but they’d probably wake up in a few hours, and could have a small, light supper before crawling back into bed for the night.

-

However, it was just an hour later when Micah stirred, roused to wakefulness by a tense hand on his shoulder.

“Micah, I need you to let me get up.”

Micah blinked, yawning, then stiffened as he looked up and saw the look of pain on Elijah’s face. A faint sheen of sweat decorated his friend’s forehead, and when Micah, alarmed, opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, he felt and heard Elijah’s stomach shift underneath his chest with a wave of sickly gurgles.  
“Micah-“

Elijah had started to ask again, something like pleading in his voice, and Micah practically leapt away, watching with horror as his friend stumbled to his feet immediately and rushed for the open door of the bathroom. He followed him after a split second, feeling his heart jolt as he watched Elijah hit his knees in front of the toilet and violently throw up, coughing and heaving over the bowl.

“Elijah, what the fuck, man…” Micah knelt beside him, reaching with both hands to capture the long strands of Elijah’s hair, pulling them back from his face. He grabbed one of his friend’s hair ties from the surface of the nearby counter, fastening his usual ponytail for him before pressing both hands to his back and rubbing, up and down. “Have you been sick this whole time? Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”  
“You needed me…” Elijah coughed shakily, his body tensing for a moment before he threw up again, spewing up another wretched mouthful of multi-colored sugars. Micah wrapped one arm around Elijah’s front and felt his friend’s belly, more bloated than he’d realized.

“How many donuts did _you_ eat? I thought we only had the one box?”  
“Two.”  
Micah’s jaw dropped. “Two _boxes?_ ”  
“ _No_.” Elijah groaned, sagging to the floor slightly. “Two donuts.”

Micah paused to process that, frowning deeply. “But… why would that make you sick? Unless maybe you ate something weird before class?”  
Elijah shook his head weakly, and Micah pressed his hand further into the burbling mess that was his friend’s belly.  
“Sugar never sits well with me. It always upsets my stomach unless I have very small amounts.”  
“Goddesses, no wonder, dude.” Micah sighed deeply and rubbed Elijah’s shoulders with what he hoped was a comforting rhythm. “Why did you eat them, then?”  
“I wanted to throw them away, but the class dragged on so long and the mess was getting all over my hands…”  
“Okay. You sit tight for a minute now, okay? Your turn.”

Micah gave Elijah’s tummy a gentle rub before standing and moving back towards the kitchen. His own stomach was now little more than a bit sore, and he retrieved the hot water bottle that had gone lukewarm, emptying it and filling it with water from the tap, as hot as he could get it. He looked over his shoulder as he heard the weary pad of Elijah’s feet from the doorway, smiling comfortingly as his friend sank onto the couch, cradling his belly and looking more than a little green.

“You like chamomile, right? You got any?”  
“Top shelf above the sink.” Elijah mumbled, leaning back on the couch with a sigh.

Micah made a mug of tea and grabbed the bottle, sliding up on the couch to sit next to Elijah as he handed him the cup of chamomile and laid the heating pack over his lower belly. He put both his hands over Elijah’s tummy, trying to rub gently at what sounded like a terrible bout of indigestion. His friend’s stomach was loudly gurgling every few seconds. It sounded even worse than his own had, just a bit earlier.  
“You should have told me you were feeling sick, man…”

Elijah looked up from the mug and there was a sternness there that brought Micah up short. He looked back at his friend in bewilderment as Elijah replied with a firmness that sounded almost forceful.  
“No. You were in pain and you needed care. Everything else could wait.”

Micah gaped for a moment but found his voice. “I could have rubbed your tummy or something while we were snuggled up on the couch? If you had just let me know-“  
“ _No_. You are not to be concerned with things like that when you are feeling unwell. It is far more important to me to see that you are comfortable and safe before anything else.”  
Micah gave Elijah a long look, weighing his friend’s unyielding tone carefully.  
“What gives, dude? Why do I come first?”

Something dark glinted in Elijah’s eyes and Micah felt his heart constrict as his friend glanced away.  
“That is just the way things are.”

A silence stretched between them, interrupted by another loud gurgling sound from Elijah’s stomach, followed by a wince from him, and Micah shrugged off the brief tension to snug back up to his best friend and put a hand back over his belly, beginning to massage again.  
“Alright, dumbass. Just let me help right now, then.”

Elijah nodded once, the defensiveness suddenly drained out of him. Deflated, he kept his gaze averted, and unable to bear him looking so sad, Micah wound his other arm around him and held him in as tight a hug as he could manage.

Slowly, Elijah relaxed again, nestling into the touch. He turned back and tucked his chin over Micah’s curls, putting his arms around him and pulling him close in a better, softer cuddle.

They stayed like that until Elijah said he was feeling better, and then they stayed like that a little longer, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s warmth


	5. Slow And Steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah starts a fight and doesn’t finish it. But then he starts a really huge meal and _does_ finish that!

Micah dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing away sweat before it could drip down into his eyes. He waited, knees bent, listening for the whistle that would signal the final play of the game.

To his right, his fellow mid-fielder dug her cleats into the grass, her hands lifted slightly by her sides; that constant temptation to guard your signal ever-present. She wasn’t _quite_ blocking it, but she’d get a foul called if she wasn’t careful.

Shifting a bit closer, he opened his mouth to whisper loudly to get her attention, but then the whistle blew. Eyes flying wide, he kicked off and ran, holding his hand out for the baton towards one of their offensive players. “I’m open! I’m open!”

He caught the throw and passed it on again; it went back to defense and then came back up to an offender before sailing towards the hoop. Micah tried to block a rival player from crossing the midline, but one wrong misstep and a shrill beep at his waist indicated that his signal had been tagged. Groaning dramatically, he threw his hands up in the air to indicate he was out.

It was so close to the end of the last quarter now, he probably didn’t have much chance of getting tagged back in, so he let his gaze wander over the field. Most of the student-based fan group had fizzled out by now; these games were just for fun and not many really saw them as competitive except for the players themselves. A few of his friends were down on the front bench, waving at him and the other players with sly grins and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Elijah was sitting alone, away from the crowd but still in view of the field. His expression warmed when Micah locked gazes with him and he gave an encouraging thumbs-up. He must have seen the pass Micah had performed and was telling him he was proud.

Micah grinned back, then the whistle blew again and he looked back towards the hoop bound, sighing deeply. They’d lost, 2 to 1, but it had been a real close game. He dropped his hands and unclipped the small signal from his waist, turning to walk back to the group and exchange the customary hand-shakes and “good game’s.”

He met with the teams behind the bleachers at the edge of the field for plastic cups of water and to return his borrowed knee-pads. The captain of the other team smirked broadly and elbowed him when he shuffled up, giving a friendly laugh.  
“You’re faster than you look, humie. I was sure that throw was gonna tie us up.”  
Micah grinned and tried not to pant too hard for breath, wiping sweat away again as he gulped down another mouthful of water. “Yeah? You’re just lucky I decided not to run the field myself!”  
“I believe it.”

The other boy’s wings suddenly fluttered and his eyes narrowed as he turned his head, and Micah blinked, following his gaze before he also scowled. Two of the jocks from his own team were slouching nearby, holding beer cans and sneering.  
“First game of the season you beat us at, huh parakeet? Must have been some crazy duskir magic. You put a curse on us?”

Micah felt his face flush with fury as he crumpled the plastic cup in his hand and started to march in the direction of the other two, when he felt the captain’s hand on his shoulder pull him to a stop.  
“Don’t, Micah.” The boy said softly. “I appreciate it but it’s not worth it.”

“Oooh, look at that. Parakeet’s got you cowed, does he?” The bigger of the jocks laughed, rolling his shoulders. “Not often you get to see a guy whipped by a bird. Maybe you should get a brush on those feathers before he starts getting too cranky!”  
“You fucking assholes!” Micah exploded, paying no heed to the defeated sigh behind him. “Gee I didn’t realize that laser-light is suddenly such a hangout for purist _trash!_ Go crawl back under whatever sewer pipe you oozed out of!”

The reaction was instantaneous. Their antagonizer’s eyes narrowed savagely as he jostled forward, grabbing Micah by the shoulders of his jersey and slamming him backwards agains the support beam of the bleachers. The avesian captain started to follow in protest but was suddenly grabbed by the other jock by one wing and he cried out in pain before stilling, fear in his eyes.

A deep, sinister chuckle slid between the teeth of Micah’s captor as he raised one hand, bright light traveling up his wrist to his fingertips. He pointed to Micah’s temple, grinning cruelly.  
“So, I’m guessing you want to keep both your eyes? Do you think you’ll miss a little skin from the side of your jaw?”  
“You fucking maniac. You can’t scare me.” Micah wheezed. “You hurt anyone with those party tricks and you’ll be out on your ass on the streets before sundown.”  
“How much do you want to bet?”

A fist flew from nowhere and buried a devastating blow against the jock’s head as he staggered to the side. Micah yelped in surprise but immediately calmed as Elijah’s strong arms caught him before he hit the ground and set him gently on the grass. Then his best friend was on his feet again, fists clenched, shoulders squared. He drew back and let fly again, pummeling the guy mercilessly. Cries for mercy went unheard. Elijah was enraged.

In the ensuing commotion, both of their antagonizers were ousted from the field as soon as a crowd gathered. Elijah was restrained, then pulled aside and severely lectured, threatened with a write-up, but fortunately there were enough witnesses to attest to the fact that he had not been the first to get physical. Especially once the lingering traces of magic in the air had been identified.

Micah lifted his hands and hugged Elijah’s shoulders when his friend was released and came back to him, sighing in relief now that the confrontation was over.   
“Micah…”  
“Shut up. I know what you’re gonna say, you know.” Micah pulled back and looked up into Elijah’s face, frowning and brushing his thumb across the split in his friend’s lip. Elijah twitched slightly but didn’t break his stern gaze.

“Micah, you were doing the best you could for him by just talking to him and showing his company was welcome after the game. Mouthing off at mindless bullies will only get you or someone else hurt.”  
“I said don’t bother. Damn, he really clocked you good, didn’t he?” Micah’s fingers traced a little further up Elijah’s cheekbone where a dark bruise was starting to blossom under the skin.

Elijah sighed, giving up, and pulled Micah closer again, holding him tightly in a hug as he propped his chin atop his best friend’s curls. Micah nestled into the hold, closing his eyes and sinking further into his arms. He didn’t want to talk about it but for a second there he had been genuinely scared that guy was going to flake off a few pieces of his skin for laughs. Elijah had gotten there just in time.  
“I assume you want to go get something to eat?” Elijah mumbled after a moment and Micah laughed.  
“How’d you know? I’m starving.”

In answer, Elijah pulled back enough to teasingly prod Micah right in the belly, causing his insides to slosh audibly. He flushed with embarrassment when his friend couldn’t hold back an amused smirk.  
“Hey! It was a rough game, okay? I was thirsty!”  
“Yes, I can hear that.”  
“You’re such an ass.” Micah complained, laughing when Elijah raked his fingers through his hair, causing the sweat-soaked strands to stick up in all directions. “Lemme grab a quick shower first, okay?”

Elijah followed him back to the locker rooms and waited outside in the hallway, reluctantly letting Micah mop up the blood from his lip when he came back out, showered and holding a wet paper towel. 

They decided to splurge for the day, take their mind off the post-game confrontation, heading to one of the all-you-can-eat campus dining halls and checking in on the lunch meal price. Elijah parked himself at an empty table to hold it while Micah scurried off to get plates of the main meal being served.

“Hey its the good stuff today!” Micah announced cheerfully as he returned to the table, precariously balancing two full plates on a tray along with two glasses of milk. “They’ve got that good chicken casserole you like. And garlic potatoes! _Yes_ \- before you ask I got green beans too.”

Elijah looked content at that, sliding over to make room for Micah in the booth as he accepted his plate and handed over a set of silverware.  
Micah was halfway through his mound of casserole when very abruptly, Elijah plucked the fork right out of his hand and held it out of reach.

“Micah, you absolutely _must_ learn to slow down. You’ll give yourself a stomachache again.”  
“I won’t!” Micah insisted, making a grab for the utensil.   
“You will. I know you are hungry but you will feel better after eating if you just take a bit more time.” Elijah very slowly gave him the fork back and looked at him seriously. “Try taking a bite of a few different things rather than focusing on one dish at a time. And drink some, in between.”

“Gee, thanks mom.” Micah muttered rebelliously, ignoring the faint sigh he got in response. But he listened, breaking up the monotony of shoveling one thing into his mouth as fast as he could to switch up his forkfuls, taking a bite of casserole, then of the green-bean dish crusted with almonds, then a spoonful of the potato mash. 

The food really _was_ good. Campus eateries tended to be hit or miss from day to day, some meals quite bland while others boasted restaurant quality. This meal was one of the better ones, and once Micah slowed down he realized how much he really was enjoying it.

The casserole was deep-dish; lashings of flaky dough wrapped around layers of cream sauce and tender, shredded chicken. There was something richly indulgent in filling his mouth with the warm, savory food and then washing it down with cold sips from his glass of milk. The potatoes were creamy in a different way, all soft clouds on his tongue laden with melted butter and the tang of garlic. The greens added a nice bite and crunch, and Micah couldn’t resist adding a little more butter to them as well.

He looked over when Elijah finished his plateful and grinned. “Thought you were preaching the whole ‘slow and steady’ bit?”  
“I have a larger mouth than you do, Micah.” Elijah said with a completely straight face, but his eyes were brimming with humor. “Besides, you are nearly finished yourself. How do you feel?”

Micah scraped up the last bit of his potatoes with his fork and swallowed them contemplatively. He felt pretty good actually. He’d usually start slowing down by this point because his stomach would be starting to hurt…

He sheepishly cast a glance in Elijah’s direction who only smiled fondly back at him.  
“I guess I feel pretty good. Kinda want seconds. What about you?”  
“I could eat more. Do you want to go up again or should I?”  
“No worries, I got it.” Micah slid out of the booth again and picked up the tray, heading back to the line up front.

He took more time this time, looking over the dishes more carefully as he decided what to load up the plates with. He got more of the casserole and greens, but opted for a fried rice dish instead of potatoes this time. He also spooned out some fresh fruit onto their plates, knowing how much Elijah seemed to like it, as long as it hadn’t been sitting in a sugary syrup for too long. Interestingly enough, there was also a stuffed mushrooms dish on the specialty table, which he’d entirely overlooked last time, and, curious, he added two to each plate before turning around and heading back to the table.

Elijah had refilled their glasses and gotten some fresh napkins, and he moved aside their empty plates and stacked them when Micah returned with the full plates again.  
“Hmm. This is a big ‘seconds.’” He commented, nonetheless tucking in to the rice as soon as Micah set the plate down. “Are you certain you can finish that?”  
“I’ll make you eat it if I can’t.” Micah said brightly, laughing when Elijah gave him a good-natured nudge. “I dunno, I kinda want to really eat today. Maybe it was the game. But I’ll take it slow, promise.”

He dug back into his chicken casserole, scooping rice in with his bites that gave the food another layer of delicious texture. He was just sprinkling some salt over his second helping of green beans when he heard Elijah make an inquiring sound.  
“What’s up?”  
“Micah, these mushrooms are very spicy.” His friend answered, finishing his mouthful and taking another bite. “Did you mean to pick them up?”

“I did, but I didn’t realize they were spicy.” Micah sighed, forking one of his own and eyeing it. He didn’t really like spicy food all that much. Not that he couldn’t stomach it, just that he liked to eat things that didn’t make his mouth feel like it was on fire. He was of the distinct opinion that fire was not a good flavor in food.  
“Try it and see if you like it.” Elijah pushed his glass of milk over next to Micah’s. “And then if not, at least you’ll have something to wash it down with.”  
Micah shrugged and bit off half of the forkful, chewing hesitantly and then screwing up his eyes in distaste.  
“Yah iss too spiceh.” He swallowed and reached for his milk first, downing what little was left in it before gratefully reaching for Elijah’s as well.

Elijah got up from the booth and came back with two more full glasses, looking amused as Micah finished the second glass and leaned back with a faint groan.  
“Better?”  
“Not spicy anymore.” Micah sighed, then lifted his hand to stifle a burp. “But man, I’m starting to get full.”  
“You have barely made a dent in your plate.” Elijah pointed out, sitting back down on the seat next to him and reaching over beneath the table, sliding his warm palm up on Micah’s waist and prompting a satisfied hum.  
“That feels so good…”

Micah rested for a moment, letting Elijah rub his belly with one hand and eat his remaining mushrooms with the other. Before long though his food would get cold and he wanted to enjoy it warm, so he pulled himself back up with a grunt and reached for his fork again.

“I’m really set on this, like I just wanna eat today.” Micah grinned and scooped up a bite of the fresh fruit. “And I still want dessert too.”  
Elijah smiled faintly and shook his head, retrieving his hand for the moment. “If you are certain. Just don’t push yourself too far.”  
“I’ll just pass out on you if I do.”  
“I don’t doubt it.”

It was a struggle to get down the rest of the casserole; it was delicious but _so_ heavy, packed with the dough and cream. The bits of chicken were good for a small pause to chew but they went down easily as well, and soon Micah could feel a heavy weight pulsing at the center of his belly, pressing up against the fabric of his shirt. Sleepiness was starting to set in at the corners of his mind and he yawned, taking a bite of the fruit again next, which was almost rousing, with its sharp, sweet notes and crisp edges. He’d powered through most of the rest of his rice and greens when he suddenly felt a squeezing sensation in his middle and groaned faintly.

“Everything alright?” Elijah asked quickly, putting an arm around him and rubbing over his tummy once more. His friend had finished his own meal and had been sitting contentedly for a while, watching the other students walk to and fro through the dining hall. His fingers massaged deeply into the swell of Micah’s stomach and pushed up a helpful bubble of air.

Micah stifled the burp behind his hand and sighed in relief. “Yeah I’m okay. I’m just-“ He forked another mouthful in and chewed deliberately. “Starting to get really stuffed.”  
“You can stop of course, if you would rather.”  
“I really don’t.” Micah couldn’t help but grin, polishing off the rest of his plate and leaning back with another sigh, giving Elijah more access to his middle. His friend worked his palm in wide circles, pressing down just enough to ease the tightness but gently enough to send waves of pleasure through his distended belly. “Nnnh… you’re so good at this, El.”

Micah had almost fallen asleep when he heard the clink of Elijah stacking their empty plates onto the tray, and cracked an eye open just in time to see him reach for the silverware.  
“Hold up, I still want to get dessert!”

Elijah paused, looking a bit surprised, but set Micah’s fork and knife back down, patting his tummy gently. “Are you certain that is a good idea?”  
“Hell if I know, but I’m gonna be craving sugar for the rest of the day if I don’t get something sweet now.” He started to shift, aiming to stand, but then grunted faintly and hiccuped once. “Ugh, I don’t want to move.”  
“I can get you something, if you like.” Elijah offered, sliding out of the booth carefully. “What did you have in mind?”

“Uhh I guess see if the soft serve ice cream thing is up and going? It’s out of order like every other day, I swear. They usually have brownies and cookies in little bowls next to it… I guess I’d like a brownie with some vanilla on top?”  
“I will check and see if they have it.” Elijah agreed, ruffling his curls affectionately as he stepped away towards the main part of the dining hall.

Micah sat still and drowsy and listened to his own tummy gurgling, working away on the big meal while he waited for Elijah to get back. He was so full already but he felt confident he could fit in a little something sweet. Then he could probably crawl back to his dorm room and sleep the rest of the day… or maybe Elijah would even feel comfortable curling up with him in the booth just this once for an hour or so.

He’d dozed off when a soft touch to his shoulder roused him and he looked up with a grin as Elijah set a bowl down in front of him, soft, creamy vanilla ice cream sitting atop a warm fudge brownie, already starting to melt together. It was the perfect serving size; just enough ice cream to balance out the chocolate but not so much that he worried about getting it all down.

“Thanks, man, this is great.” He sat up as Elijah slid back into the booth with him, nodding warmly in answer. Micah picked up his spoon and dug in, sighing with pleasure as soon as the cold sweetness hit the back of his throat. Then he took a bite of the fudge and savored it before sipping at the glass of cold water that Elijah had brought him as well.

Nothing, it seemed, was more satisfying than a hearty, sweet dessert right after a rich, starchy meal. Micah steadily worked his way through the ice cream and brownie, trading off the warm and cold temperatures, the creamy and fudgy textures. He’d gotten down to a few bites when it happened - a long, deep gurgle rolled through his belly accompanied by a sharp pain.

“Ooh…” Micah leaned back and welcomed Elijah’s swift response, hand coming up to press at his tummy gently. “Nngh.. I think that’s it. I’m full-“ He gave a small burp and looked down at the remaining few spoonfuls in vexation. Then, making a face, he sat back up and scooped up another bite, swallowing against the growing, throbbing pressure in his middle.  
“Micah, if your stomach is starting to hurt, you should stop.” Elijah urged softly, his thumb circling the swell of Micah's stuffed belly soothingly.  
“There’s like, three bites left," Micah argued. "I’m not gonna leave them.”

He forced down the last of it, took one last swallow of water, then leaned back in the booth for the final time, surrendering to Elijah’s attentive massage and warm hold. He groaned faintly every other breath, but within a few minutes, the pain amazingly eased up and trickled out. He was stuffed to the brim, all full and achy but incredibly satisfied.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here, I think.” Micah moaned breathlessly when Elijah rubbed at a particularly burbly spot in his tummy. He stifled another belch behind his hand.  
“We can stay for a little while until you feel up to walking.” Elijah agreed with a faint smile, curling his arm more tightly around him. He was practically cradling him, one arm around his back and shoulders and the other rubbing skillfully over the taut fullness and dull ache of Micah’s swollen stomach. It felt so warm, so good.  
“Wake me up when they kick us out to switch over to dinnertime.”  
“Will do.”

Micah fell asleep, wrapped in warmth and comfort and satiety, curled tightly in the arms of his best friend who had draped a jacket around the two of them so he could keep rubbing his tummy without getting any weird stares from passerby.

Elijah looked down at Micah’s peaceful face, something tight and fierce and powerful spreading in his chest. He laid his cheek down over his best friend’s soft head and looked around at the dining hall, the bright lights and students, the warm wooden walls and high ceilings.

What if this was all there was? What if this real, beautiful, warm and peaceful place was all there was… safety and comfort and light.  
Elijah licked his lips and tasted the tang of blood, felt the little sting of pain.

He closed his eyes and held Micah a little tighter.


	6. Better Me Than You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Micah’s other friends! Everyone tries to have a fun night at the fair until something quite unfortunate interrupts.

“Micah, just stand still and ignore it. It will lose interest and leave you both alone if you do not get so excited.”  
“That’s easy for you to say!”  
“Then come here.”

Sasha released her tenuous grip on Micah’s hand, abandoning her boyfriend to the mercies of the wasp that had been antagonizing the two of them for the past six minutes or so. She darted over behind Elijah with a high-pitched giggle as Micah stammered out a “W-wait!” and followed.

“The two of you are ridiculous.” Elijah announced, a smile in his eyes that he was fighting to keep off his lips. The wasp, zipping around erratically, bumbled over to where he stood, prompting Micah to duck as he clutched the crook of Elijah’s arm a bit tighter.  
“The fuck we are! That thing is huge!”

Elijah rolled his eyes good-naturedly then swept out his hand, snatching the wasp out of the air, ignoring the sound of surprise that Sasha made behind him. He ground his thumb against his palm and then dropped the crushed insect, putting one arm around the girl, careful of her wings, and the other around his best friend once he had done so.  
“And now it is dead.”

“By the goddesses, Elijah.” Sasha laughed, laying her forehead against his shoulder, eliciting a rare chuckle from the older boy. “You’re so brave.”  
“He’s just showing off.” Micah quipped, entirely in jest, wrapping his arms around his friend and hugging him tightly. “Kidding. Thanks, El.”

“Are you three coming or what?”

Micah sighed dramatically and shrugged out from under Elijah’s hold, taking Sasha’s hand again as he did so. “Yeah okay Cole, jeez! Next time don’t take twenty minutes arguing with the ticket counter!”  
“It wasn’t _my_ fault!”

The fairground was awash in lights and sounds and activity. Elijah seemed to tense up as they crossed the gates, but accepted a handful of armbands and leaned down to fasten Sasha’s and Micah’s for them, then held out his wrist for Micah to fasten his own.

“So what do you guys want to do first?” Micah piped up once he’d let go of Elijah’s hand, his breath misting into the chilly fall night.  
“Haunted house!” Cole said immediately with a broad grin, in response to which his datemate Jordan groaned.  
“Those things are so hokey! I think we should try the Ferris wheel first - start the night off with a classic.”

“No Ferris wheel for me.” Micah cut in, shaking his head. He had to hold back a smile as Elijah subtly slipped an arm around him in gratitude. Elijah’s fear of heights would make him the only one on the ground if the group decided to go, unless Micah stayed with him.

“I want to try the haunted house!” Macy protested, at the same time that Sasha said, “But the Ferris wheel is the best part!”

“Okay, lets just split up. Sasha and Jordan, you two go on the Ferris wheel.” Cole directed, leaning over to kiss Jordan teasingly. “Just don’t get too cozy! Me, Micah, Elijah, and Macy will go in the haunted house. We’ll meet back up at say, the concession stand?”

“Works for me!” Micah agreed, pulling Sasha in for a quick kiss as well. Cole’s gaze flitted to Elijah.  
“What about you, big guy?”  
“Of course.”

“Alright, go, go!” Sasha laughed, grabbing Jordan by the hand and hauling them off towards the Ferris wheel line. Cole chuckled, feline ears twitching, then grabbed Micah’s hand in a similar manner and started running in the direction of the haunted house. “It’s a race apparently, everyone haul ass!”

Macy and Elijah exchanged an extremely amused look before following at a brisk walk after the other two, as Micah yelled something about being abducted over the field.

The haunted house was a rickety old thing - or at least, was designed to look as much; planks of plastic and fiberglass that decorated the outside were carved into the shape of wooden beams and painted with grayish browns and yellows. The line was a bit long, and within ten minutes, Macy and Micah had started up a very convoluted game of rock-paper-scissors while Cole narrated the whole affair like a sports commentator. Elijah stood quietly and smiled fondly.

He seemed to be trying to force himself to relax as they went in, barely twitching at many of the animatronics that would jump out with record-scratch evil laughter while the other three screeched in delight. They made their way through a hall of mirrors, across a shaky “suspension bridge,” and past a dilapidated “outhouse.” In the final room, the walls were painted black and there was very little light, and naturally, everyone assumed the jump scares were over. They were wrong.

Between the time it took for the skeleton to jolt shrieking out of the shadows and for the strategically-placed camera to snap a picture of their terrified faces, Elijah had moved across the room. Arms out, stance protective, shielding the other three as though their lives depended on it - once they were outside and looking over the picture, Macy and Cole could not contain their laughter. Micah grinned over at Elijah who looked genuinely embarrassed and would not stop staring at the ground.

“Holy shit Elijah, I thought you were totally cool the whole time and then you’re ready to crush us like cans against the wall to get away from a plastic skeleton!” Cole crowed, and Macy smacked his shoulder.

“Hey now, give Elijah some credit! He was just trying to defend us all!” She laughed breathlessly, hands on her knees, gasping for a breath. “Damn though my dude, you can _move_. I barely even realized that thing had jumped out before you practically swept me off my feet!”

“There is absolute _murder_ in your eyes.” Cole wheezed, holding up the picture and pointing to Elijah’s face. He didn’t look up from the ground to acknowledge it.  
“My apologies. I realize I overreacted and I did not intend to ruin the experience.”

“Ruin it? Hell no, that was the best part!” Cole declared with enthusiasm, and a flicker of relief crossed Elijah’s face as he finally glanced up. Micah giggled and squeezed his best friend’s arm encouragingly, nudging him to raise his head a little more.

“So are we gonna go over and meet Sasha and Jordan now?” Micah asked as Cole pocketed the picture and looked around at the rest of the fairgrounds.  
“Yeah! They should be done with their ride by now. They might even be waiting on us since we took our time walking through the house.”  
“By the Goddesses, Cole!” Macy suddenly exclaimed with renewed laughter, pointing as the boy blushed. “Your tail! I’ve never seen you that frizzy before!”  
“Hey, it’s involuntary!”

The four of them trotted over towards the concession stands, finding Sasha and Jordan on a bench nearby, munching their way through a large box of popcorn.

“There you guys are!” Sasha jumped up, while Jordan behind her rolled their eyes.  
“We were starting to think you’d been eaten by a vampire or something.”

“You got snacks without us already, huh?” Micah joked, beaming as he put his arms around Sasha’s waist and she giggled.  
“Eh, it’s just popcorn. Tastes about a week old, anyways. We were waiting on you guys to get real food.”

“What _do_ they have as far as actual food goes?” Macy wondered, looking around at the various stands and booths.  
“The usual. Corndogs, pizza - there’s a takeout food truck over there.” Jordan pointed, pausing to peck Cole on the lips as they stood, who promptly made a face at the stale salt taste on their lips. “I think there was also a food truck with nachos roaming around somewhere?”

“Okay assuming we’re all gonna want different things,” Macy began to suggest, looking around for the imaginary nacho truck. “Let’s just split up again and meet back up at a table together. Does anyone want to be the volunteer to hold one down?”  
“I will stay.” Elijah offered, looking over towards the picnic tables and visually picking out an empty one. He strode over to sit at it while the others nodded and called after him in thanks.

Micah waved Sasha over to hold a place in line at the sandwich stand while he followed Elijah for the moment, grinning and leaning his hands on the table as his friend sat down.   
“What do you want us to get for you to bring back over here?”  
“I would rather not eat here, I will get something at the apartment.” Elijah smiled in vague apology as Micah frowned.  
“Aw, come on dude, don’t be so paranoid. You can eat around these guys! They’re super cool people.”  
“Of course they are. I’m sorry, Micah, I know it seems irrational, but I would just prefer to get a meal at the apartment. I would feel uncomfortable eating out in the open like this.”

Micah scowled irritably before hefting an annoyed sigh, leaving Elijah to look tense and unapproachable at the picnic table, lightly jogging over to where Sasha was waiting.  
“What’d he want?” She asked curiously and Micah shook his head, rolling his eyes.  
“He doesn’t want to eat here at the fair. He says he wants to wait til he gets home to eat.”  
“Why’s that?” Sasha looked over to the tables, but Elijah’s face was turned towards the bright lights of the attractions now, his posture stiff. “Is he feeling okay?”

“Ugh, yeah he’s fine. He’s just so jumpy about eating around other people. He’s always like this.” Micah crossed his arms in vexation and Sasha put one arm around his waist in a warm hug. “Sometimes I wish he’d just let his guard down for a fucking minute. He can’t ever enjoy shit because he’s always ready to throw down at the slightest thing.”  
“You seem annoyed by that.” Sasha commented in an amused tone and Micah grimaced.  
“Yeah it fucking drives me up the- _mmph!_ ”

Sasha pulled Micah into a kiss, her fingers tracing up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair as she smiled onto his lips. He laced his fingers around her waist, felt her feathers flutter against his hands, breathed in her warm scent. Before he closed his eyes, the lights and sounds of the fairground faded into a blissful, shimmery haze. Colors danced about their heads and he laughed against her cheek when she parted from him.

“It’s so weird seeing _you_ grumpy.” She mumbled into the fabric of his hoodie, where she’d buried her face into his shoulder in comfort. He grinned and shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, where her hair parted over her horn. She hummed in delight at the caress and her wings curled around him slightly.

“Sorry, I’ll straighten up.” Micah promised with a lightly dazed smile, letting go of her slowly and taking her hand, squeezing their palms together so they could walk up to the window to get their food.

On the way back to the picnic table, Micah suddenly stopped, tugging on Sasha’s hand to get her attention.  
“Mmf?” She prompted, mouth full of turkey sub, a bit of honey mustard at the corner of her lips that she quickly wiped away with the edge of the napkin she had wrapped around the bun. She swallowed and spoke up more clearly. “What is it?”  
“I think I know how to get Elijah to eat.” Micah grinned in delight, nodding over towards the takeout truck. “They have shrimp stir-fry! He fucking _loves_ seafood!”

“Does he?” Sasha wondered, skipping to catch up when Micah suddenly let go of her hand, making a beeline for the food truck. “That much?”  
“Yeah! It’s his favorite.”  
“I dunno, Micah, if he’s already decided he doesn’t want to eat, then-“  
“Oh, he’ll eat if we bring him something. He hates wasting food.”

The takeout came in a charming little box with a handle, a set of chopsticks inserted through the lid, and Micah beamed when they arrived back to the table as he held the food out to Elijah. His friend almost seemed to freeze in place as he looked up at him.

“Micah, I said that I didn’t want-“  
“Oh just take it, you behemoth. You’ll have more fun if you’re not wandering around the grounds hungry all night anyway! And it’s your favorite! Got some good shrimp in there.”  
“We’ve been feeding him fries.” Cole laughed from where he was sitting across the table, Jordan pressed closed to his side and Macy at the end of the bench, cheerfully plowing through her sandwich boat of nachos. “Come on Elijah, Micah’s got a point.”

Elijah’s expression turned almost nervous, and he hesitated for a long moment, before reaching out and accepting the box with a mumbled thanks. He opened the top and began eating, every movement precise and methodical as if he were accomplishing a task rather than eating a meal.  
Micah sat next to him and gave him a nudge when the others got up to throw away their trash. Elijah glanced down at him uneasily and Micah frowned at him.  
“Come on man… stop stressing. It’s hella distracting. Everyone just wants to have fun tonight, why can’t you?”

A wounded look flashed in his best friend’s eyes before he looked away, hiding it, and Micah felt his heart clench in regret. He opened his mouth, but Elijah spoke up first.  
“Please forgive me. I did not intend to make anyone uncomfortable. It is merely… an anxiety that I need to work on, and-“  
“But this is your _favorite_. And these people are really nice! Sasha and I have been trying to get you to come out with us for _ages_. Don’t you want to make friends and stuff?”  
“I know.” Elijah mumbled softly, eating the last bite of shrimp and noodles in his box, tucking the chopsticks in the empty container. “I know. I’m sorry.“

“Whew, that hit the spot.” Cole grinned as the group walked back over from the stands, Macy carrying a candy apple that she was stickily enjoying. Cole stretched his arms over his head, tail flicking comfortably. “Pile of junk or no. Anyone want a funnel cake?”

“Let’s get sweets later!” Sasha suggested, standing up from the table and nodding over towards the rides. “I want to do the bumper cars before the after-game crowds get here.”  
“Eh, probably a good call.” Cole looked over towards the bumper car arena before glancing around the group. “That okay with everyone?”

A chorus of agreement sounded back and they made their way over, stopping to read a sign posted outside about leaving personal belongings in the provided cubbies.

“Shit, I don’t want to leave my stuff in these things.” Micah grumbled, leaning over to inspect them. “They don’t even have doors! Anyone could take stuff out of here as long as they didn’t look suspicious doing it.”

“I can stay and hold whatever cannot be taken onto the ride.” Elijah suggested, prompting the rest of the group to look at him.  
“Why you wanna stay behind, big guy? Don’t like bumper cars?” Cole asked and Elijah shrugged lightly.  
“They are perfectly fine, I just… have concerns that I might not fit easily in and out of one.”

Macy barked a sharp laugh and then the rest of the group dissolved into giggles, as Elijah stood quietly, a bashful but amused look in his eyes. Thanking him, each of them handed him various objects, keys and phones and wallets. He disappeared each item into his deep pockets, then walked over to stand on the boardwalk while everyone else clamored into the line to wait.

For a change of pace, Macy and Sasha got into one car while Micah and Cole got into another. Jordan declared they had enough raw power to pilot a bumper car all on their own and leapt into one, only to be joined by a complete stranger not ten seconds later.  When the whistle blew, the cars slammed forward onto the polished track, and before long, Micah and Cole were ramming the girls’ car as hard as they could against the sideboard. Jordan steamrolled up with their new friend as the rescue and tried to bash the boys aside.

Suddenly, a car nearby them lit up with a ring of flame, its drunk occupants laughing loudly as chaos erupted around them. Micah and the others exchanged looks of alarm as the car emptied the floor, sending other fairgoers frantically clearing a path for them to come through.

“Well, shit.” Cole muttered next to Micah, his ears twitching as the smaller boy glanced at him. “Which rule applies first here, do you think? Don’t play with fire or don’t play with magic?”

“They’re drunk. As long as they don’t hurt anyone…” Micah looked over towards the boardwalk where Elijah was waving down one of the attendants. “Elijah noticed. He’ll get the operators to get them off the floor.”

Within a few minutes, the ride had been halted and the drunk magic-users escorted away, licenses checked, and banned from the ride for the night. Micah groaned in complaint as the lights over the arena came back on, signaling the end of the round, and ride attendants came onto the floor to push apart cars and shoo guests over to the exit gates.

“I guess we’ll have to get back in line if we want a full turn.” Cole pouted, jumping down into the grass as Micah followed him.  
“The girls and Jordan are still stuck in the mass.” He pointed out, gesturing to where the cars were all crammed up in a bunch. “Let’s go get a funnel cake and wait for them outside with it! Then we can get back in line if they’re still running it.”  
“I like the sound of that.” Cole ran to get his wallet from Elijah, explaining where they were going, then hurried off with Micah towards the concession stand again.

They got two funnel cakes, as one looked just a bit too small to share between the six of them. The chewy, golden confections were heavily sprinkled with powdered sugar, and decadent steam rose from the surface of the fried dough. Micah’s mouth watered as he carefully handled one, passing the other off to Cole, and it was all he could do not to pull off a bite right there. But he determined he’d wait until they got back to the group. Elijah probably wouldn’t even want any, come to think of it.

When they got back to the group however, his best friend wasn’t anywhere in sight. Sasha handed Micah back his keys and phone, squeezing his arm warmly at the sight of his confused expression.

“Elijah said he needed to get home. He said something came up and he asked me to let you know he would see you later.”  
“What?” Micah felt hurt leech into his tone, and the others around him look towards him. He could swear they tensed up. “Why would he just… leave?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Sasha kissed his cheek and held her hand out for the funnel cake, tearing off a bit of the dough to pop in her mouth with a smile. “These are great! Thanks for going to get them, you two. …Micah?”  
“I, um.” Micah choked out, dusting powdered sugar off his hands. “I’m gonna go get a cup of chocolate drizzle. I’ll be right back.”

He ran from the group, not looking back, in what he hoped was the vague direction of the funnel cake cart. A sob bubbled up between his lips and he stumbled to a halt once he was a reasonable distance away, scrubbing his wrist across his eyes, trying to force back the tears, but they just kept coming. He fucked up.

“Micah…” Sasha had followed him and before he could whirl around and ask her to let him be for a few minutes, she had folded him into a hug, wings wrapping around the both of them. “What’s wrong, baby?”  
“I fucked up.” Micah cried, surrendering to his hurt and wrapping his arms around her in return. “I was a real fucking ass. Elijah’s mad, and-“

“Whoa, whoa, Elijah didn’t seem mad to me.” Sasha soothed, rubbing her boyfriend’s back. “He seemed stressed, yeah, but not over your little tiff or anything. It was like a weird distracted kind of stressed, like he was thinking about something else entirely. But he smiled that soft smile he gets when he asked me to tell you he’d see you later. He looked entirely not-mad. And he’s not going to just leave you behind to wonder about him if he really had something he wanted to say to you. Why don’t you come back to the group?”

“Because I’m throwing a f-fucking tantrum like a three year old!” Micah sobbed, pushing away to make a futile attempt to dry his red eyes. “Goddesses I’m so… fucking _annoying_. I make everyone around me uncomfortable all the damn time because I can’t just shut up and act like an adult for once!”

“Micah.” Sasha took both his hands in hers and squeezed tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “That is not true. The others don’t think you’re annoying. I think they’re a little worried, but that’s mostly because they don’t really know what to make of Elijah and they’re not sure whats going on.” She laughed easily. “And besides, _you’re_ one to talk about making everyone uncomfortable. Think about it. An Avesian, a Feliken, a witch, and a gang member walk into a fair… it’s like the start of a bad joke. At this rate, you and Jordan are the only ‘normal’ members in the group!”

“No one knows about Elijah being in a gang.” Micah protested, then blinked in surprise as Sasha rolled her eyes.  
“Micah, _everyone_ knows Elijah’s in a gang. You’d have to be blind to miss it. All those scars?”  
“He covers them up!”  
“Most of them, I’m sure. But he can’t exactly walk around with a mask and gloves all the time, can he?”

Micah sniffled his way to a mostly sodden state of calm, welcoming Sasha’s comfort as she pulled him back into a hug again.  
“Don’t tell Elijah everyone knows he’s in a gang.” He mumbled softly into her hair, feeling her chuckle. “He tries really hard to hide it.”  
“No one would, I promise. They like him, he’s honestly real sweet, and they can tell. They wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”  
“I did.”  
“Pardon?”

“I hurt his feelings.” Micah said despondently, stepping back and drying his eyes with his sleeve again. “I still think he left because of me. Even if he’s not mad… I definitely upset him. I think I should go… catch up with him and tell him I’m sorry.”

“What if he ran off to do something gang-related? You’re not gonna get mixed up in that, are you?”  
“No way. Ugh, you’re right, he might be anywhere.” Micah pulled out his phone and checked the display. “Maybe I should just call him first. Or message him.”

Sasha laced their hands together and tugged Micah back in the direction of the rest of the group, at a slow enough pace that he had time to call Elijah twice and message him once, met with silence on all attempts. No, fuck it, Elijah was definitely mad. Sasha didn’t know how good he was at masking his emotions when he really wanted to. Micah needed to go find him as soon as he could.

When they drew close again, Cole offered a hesitant smile and a friendly thump on the shoulder to Micah. “Hey humie. Everything okay?”  
“Yeah. Sorry for making a scene.” Micah rubbed the back of his neck, relieved that no one mentioned the missing condiment he’d supposedly run off for. A hesitant glance up at the rest of their faces reassured him. He saw nothing but quiet encouragement and concern. “I think I might have upset Elijah with something I said earlier and I want to head out so I can catch up with him and make sure he’s okay.”

Cole chuckled softly and shook his head. “Hey, it’s no worries. It’s best not to let those kinds of things go if you need to get them cleared up, we understand.” He elbowed Jordan who shoved back playfully as Macy spoke up.

“We’ll walk you back to the gate! Sasha, are you staying or going?”  
“I’ll stay and hang out with you guys.” She decided, winking at Micah. “The boys will want some time to themselves.”  
“Huh.” Jordan pursed their lips and looked between Sasha and Micah. “So are all three of you dating?”

“Nah, me and Sasha are dating.” Micah clarified helpfully, grinning when Sasha cut in with, “Micah and Elijah are just cuddle buddies.”  
“That’s so fucking wholesome.” Cole muttered, and the rest of the group broke into laughter.

-

Micah stalled nervously, wringing his hands together in his hoodie pocket as he peered around the corner of the wall. Elijah’s apartment rested securely far outside of legal jurisdiction. The gang activity in the area was so intense, it was less productive for law enforcement to try to invade than it was for them to simply leave a few blocks of territory entirely untouched. Within their own ranks, the gangs had ways of respecting certain property, keeping the boundary lines clean, but Elijah had warned Micah ages ago never to come to the apartment alone, without him there in case trouble arose.

But he had called Elijah another three times in the time had taken him to get from the fair to here, and his friend hadn’t answered once. And he felt he couldn’t just give up and walk away… he would be stressing and worrying the rest of the night and maybe even over the weekend if he didn’t at least get in touch with Elijah.

Damn, he just needed to put his arms around him and tell him he was sorry for snapping at him. The guilt had been gnawing at his insides for the better part of two hours now, and he just wanted to know for sure that his friend wasn’t angry with him. He was so looking forward to one of Elijah’s big bear hugs. 

With a deep breath of determination, Micah darted away from the wall and ran into gang territory. He didn’t slow his pace as his feet pounded the sidewalk, figuring that if nothing else, at least he wouldn’t get mistaken for an undercover police officer if he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. Then maybe if he ran into anyone, they’d ask questions before shooting him on the spot.

He crashed to a breathless halt at the foot of the steps leading up to Elijah’s door, fumbling for his keys where they jangled in his pocket before managing to grasp the right one and insert it into the lock. He all but collapsed through the doorway, panting slightly, then closed the door and locked it securely behind himself. He’d made it, no trouble. 

“Elijah?” He called, then took a deep breath, and in a moment, the world seemed to grind to a halt and he stopped, eyes growing wide.

The unmistakable smell of sickness permeated the apartment. It was sour and strong; though the fan had been left on in the bathroom, the light was off, and when Micah pushed open the door of Elijah’s bedroom, he saw him.

His friend was lying over the mattress, shirt stripped off and bundled on the floor in a heap. Elijah’s face and shoulders were covered with sweat and he looked almost wilted into the sheets, pain and nausea plain on his face and one arm draped over his forehead. He looked the absolute picture of misery, dubiously asleep.

Elijah was sick. He’d gotten _sick_ , and had come back home. _That_ was the reason. And he’d left without saying a word about how he was feeling.

Micah closed his gaping mouth and crept over to the bed, wincing as he heard Elijah’s clearly abused stomach gurgle ominously from under the covers. He made it to the side of the mattress and reached out, laying a hand on Elijah’s arm and shaking gently. His friend’s skin was clammy to the touch.

“Elijah.” He said softly, sighing as glassy blue eyes opened, and Elijah’s whole body jolted in shock to see him. Another sickly sound twisted up from Elijah’s stomach at the sharp movement and he groaned softly. Micah dropped to his elbows over the pillows and hugged him as best he could.

“Micah… what are you doing here? It is not safe to cross this part of the city on your own…”  
“Fuck off.” Micah kicked off his shoes and crawled up more fully onto the bed, winding one arm under Elijah’s head and neck and reaching for his belly with his other hand. His friend winced in pain when Micah’s cool fingers brushed his swollen abdomen and began kneading carefully, soothingly. “I was worried about you, man… you just disappeared from the fair. You’ve been sick this whole time?”

Elijah opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but then Micah felt a cramp tear through his friend’s muscular stomach and a breathless moan left Elijah’s lips instead. He’d clearly swished his mouth out with something minty before he’d laid down. So he’d definitely been throwing up in addition to whatever other troubles his tummy had been giving him. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything? You should have let me know so I could have come with you to take care of you!”

“There was nothing you could have done.” Elijah whispered, moving his hands slowly to wrap Micah up into a warm embrace as another sigh left his lips. “You had been looking forward to going out with the group for weeks. I could not possibly ruin that. Did you have fun?” Elijah pulled back slightly and something sharp turned in Micah’s chest at all the warm hope in his best friend’s pained expression. “Did you get another turn on the bumper cars?”

Tears sprang to Micah’s eyes before he blinked them away, clutching himself a little tighter to Elijah’s chest. He’d been so scared for hours that Elijah had been mad at him for berating him about the food. But the entire time, his friend had ignored every single one of his own needs just to make sure Micah enjoyed the night out. 

“No man, I- fuck.” Micah startled as his phone lit up ringing in his pocket, and patted Elijah’s tummy soothingly when his friend whimpered a bit at being jostled. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. Hang tight for just a second, okay? It’s Sasha, I’ll get you some tea while I talk to her, alright?”

Micah hurried into the kitchen, raising the phone to his ear as he grasped the handle on the tea cupboard and pulled it open. Chamomile was Elijah’s favorite, but hadn’t he heard something before about peppermint being good for sore stomachs? He plucked out a tea bag and grabbed a mug when Sasha’s voice came over the phone.

“Micah? You there? Did you get to Elijah’s apartment okay?”  
“Yeah, yeah I’m here.” He assured her, filling the mug with water from the tap and sticking it in the microwave on high. “I got here like ten minutes ago. Elijah’s really-“  
“Sick?”

Micah stopped, a sense of dread creeping over him. “…Yeah. How did you know?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a tense moment before Sasha answered. “The fair attendants just shut down the takeout food truck and sent them off the grounds. Apparently their shrimp thing has been giving people food poisoning all night.”

Micah dropped the spoon he’d taken out of the drawer with a clatter. Frozen, he stared at the wall in horror as realization washed over him.  
It was his fault.  
“Micah?” Sasha prompted, and he swallowed hard.  
“…I’ll call you back later.”  
“Wait-“

Micah hung up the phone and buried his face in his hands, beginning to cry silently. The microwave dinged but he ignored it for several moments, trying to get his breathing under control before he went back into the bedroom to face Elijah.

It was his fault. It was _his fault_.

“Micah…” He heard Elijah call him and he coughed back his tears, dropping the tea bag into the mug and hurrying back to the bedroom, setting the mug on the nightstand so it could steep for a few minutes. Elijah reached for him with shaking arms as soon as he was close and Micah guiltily scrambled back onto the bed, into his embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- It’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Micah choked out little, gasping sobs, and felt Elijah tighten his hold, his trembling fingers stroking through his hair, over and over again. 

“Micah! Micah, it’s alright, it is alright, please calm down. Nothing is your fault, what are you talking about?”  
“It was the fucking takeout.” Micah cried, his face buried in Elijah’s clammy shoulder. “You got food poisoning from the takeout that I made you eat.”

Elijah was quiet for a long moment, and then, unbelievably, Micah heard him laugh once, the softest sound imaginable.  
“Micah, look at me. Come here,” Elijah cupped his face in both hands and lifted his head, thumbs stroking away the tear tracks on his best friend’s cheeks. “Look at me. It is not your fault. You did not _make_ me do anything. I could have easily told you no if I had really had a mind to. Nothing you did was blameworthy. You wanted me to relax and enjoy a night out with you and your friends, and I was stubborn enough to try to avoid participating out of misplaced anxiety.”  
“But-“

“The unfortunate matter of the food being contaminated was mere coincidence. You had _no_ way of knowing. Under normal circumstances, absolutely nothing bad would have come of the gesture on your part. You even tried to find something that you knew I liked. It is not your fault. If I had been less argumentative and chosen the same thing of my own accord, it would have resulted in exactly the same consequences. You did nothing to cause this, Micah, please do not be so hard on yourself.”

Micah cried harder, leaning his forehead back on Elijah’s chest, clinging to him as tightly as he dared.  
“I’m still sorry. I snapped at you and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that…”  
“I rather think I did.” Elijah said dryly, holding Micah closely again, looking startled when Micah spoke up, loudly and insistently.

“You fucking _did not!_ I hurt your fucking feelings because I didn’t care about you feeling anxious, because I was being a _total ass_. And I’m sorry… and I want you to _know_ that I’m sorry, please, El.”

“Micah, my feelings do not matter, especially over something so trivial. Your comfort is far more important and I am sorry to have caused you such distress tonight.” Elijah ran his fingers through Micah’s curls reassuringly. “But if it will make you feel better, it means a lot to me that you care, you are completely forgiven, please do not blame yourself.”

Micah growled, sat up, and glared at Elijah through his tears. “Yeah, of course I  _care_. I love you, you fuckwit.”  
Elijah smiled softly and squeezed Micah’s hand gently. “I love you too, Micah. Very much.”

Micah had just scowled and clasped Elijah’s hand more tightly to get a better look at his palm when he heard his friend’s stomach gurgle sharply and looked up as Elijah nearly folded in half on the bed with a pained moan.

“Aw shit, okay, just breathe, man.” Micah grasped Elijah’s shoulder and pushed his long hair back from his face. “Goddesses, do you need anything? I got some tea here… or do you need to get back in the bathroom?”  
“N-no.” Elijah gasped quietly, struggling to stretch back out again but failing miserably. “No, I am fairly certain my system is empty at this point.”  
“You poor bastard.” Micah grasped the hand that Elijah was clutching at his stomach with, tugging insistently. “Let me see it, okay? Here, sit up and drink this.”

Elijah crawled into a jumbled sitting position against the wall and pillows, accepting the mug and sipping very slowly, twitching and shifting with the effort not to curl his knees up to his chest again. Micah placed both his hands over his friend’s tender belly and tried to rub away the ache, completely at a loss. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Elijah in this much pain.

“Fuck. Your stomach really hurts, doesn’t it?”  
Elijah closed his eyes tightly, lowering the mug for a minute. After he’d taken a few breaths, he nodded, very slowly, and Micah felt a sharp pain in his chest.  
“Is the tea helping at all?”

“A little.” Elijah assured him softly, setting aside the empty mug with a shaking hand. Micah helped him lie back down against a pile of pillows and pressed his hand on his knee gently when Elijah started to curl up in misery again.  
“Try to lay flat, okay? Let me try to help…”

Elijah’s belly was disturbingly sunken inwards, his abdominal muscles tense and strained, but a noticeable bloat curving out from his lower gut, against the edges of his hipbones. Micah felt useless trying to smooth his hands all over his friend’s sick stomach, trying first wide circles and then stroking back and forth in a rhythmic motion. He tried adding a little pressure, wondering if was he being too light to do any good, but then Elijah made the quietest, softest sound of pain in response, more guttural than a whimper but too breathless to be a moan, and Micah immediately eased up again, biting his lip.

“Do you keep any like… actual medicine on hand for this sort of thing?” Micah asked after a few more minutes passed, as he rubbed at Elijah’s aching tummy, stroking his fingers over his sides after every loose circle he made over his navel. Elijah had stopped trying to curl into a fetal position but he was still squirming every so often in pain.  
“Potentially. Although, whatever there is, it might be out of date.”  
“Is your med kit still under the sink in the kitchen?”  
“Mhm.”  
“Okay, I’m just gonna look real quick, I’ll be right back. I’ll get the hot water bottle too.”

Micah slid off the bed, almost changing his mind when Elijah clung to his wrist for a moment longer than necessary, seemingly without meaning to. He darted out of the room and to the sink, digging around in the cabinet underneath before he unearthed a bottle of pink liquid, bismatrol on the label. Blessedly, the expiration date on the label hadn’t passed, though it was only a couple weeks out. The bottle was entirely unopened though, and Micah used a kitchen knife to peel away the safety seal while he filled the hot water bottle he’d promised to get.

He returned to where Elijah lay, holding his own stomach again with both hands. Micah set down a glass of water and handed his best friend a small cup of the medicine, watching him drink it down with a grimace before giving him the water to chase it with. He put the hot pack down against Elijah’s waist, then crawled back into the bed with him and rested his hands soothingly over his tense stomach once more before beginning to rub again, massaging in comforting circles, as that seemed to be doing the most good. Very, very slowly, Elijah’s breaths became less shallow, his muscles less taut and cramped. He hiccuped once or twice and each time Micah paused, wondering if he needed to get a bucket or something, but nothing came of it. Elijah’s stomach never stopped gurgling unpleasantly beneath Micah’s palms, and he imagined he could feel every painful twinge that ran through his friend’s abdomen as he rubbed.

“I’m so sorry, Elijah…” Micah said quietly, trying anything that he knew helped him feel better when Elijah was taking care of him. Softly spoken words were one method. “I’m sorry you’re so sick…”  
“I- it is not-“ Elijah’s breath hitched and he twisted slightly against the mattress. “I will be alright… it doesn’t much matter.”  
“I need you stop fucking talking like that.” Micah groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “Please, El. Just… let yourself be taken care of for once, okay? Am I helping at all?”  
“ _Yes_.” Elijah was quick to assert, raising his hands to hold Micah’s wrists softly in affection. “Yes, of course you are. Thank you… you do not even have to-“  
“Okay, what the fuck is this?” Micah interrupted, taking Elijah’s hand to turn his palm up to the low light, squinting at what he’d been trying to make out earlier on his friend’s hand.

A lump had swollen up between Elijah’s forefinger and thumb, shiny with inflammation, raw to the touch. Micah squinted at the sore a second longer before realization struck and he looked down at Elijah in bewilderment.  
“It stung you. The wasp, it stung you.”

“Of course it did.” Elijah managed to say relatively matter-of-factly, one hand twitching over his stomach, prompting Micah to quickly resume the tummy rub. “It was only natural, after all. I did grab it.”  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
“It was unimportant. It seemed the wasp was going to sting _someone_ , better to have stung me than you. Or Sasha, for that matter.”

Micah stared back at Elijah with a sense of immense dread, watching his friend’s glazed eyes fix on a far point on the wall and stare there unblinkingly. Should he argue with him right now? Should he try to set this straight once and for all? Elijah cared so little about himself; it was terrifying. He kept his every deepest need at a distant second place to anyone else’s slightest whim. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t _right_.

But then Micah’s hand dipped down over a burbly place in his friend’s belly, and suddenly Elijah groaned softly, with something that sounded much more like relief than pain, and Micah focused on rubbing the tender place he’d just found that seemed to help so much. Elijah relaxed for the first time since Micah had gotten there, going slack in exhaustion into the bed and sighing deeply with sleepy discomfort. 

_Sooner or later._ Micah told himself as he stroked his palms over and over across Elijah’s rumbling stomach, finally seeming to have found a pattern and pressure that was helping him feel much better. Elijah went to sleep, the fingers of his other hand clinging lightly to Micah’s knee. _Sooner or later we’re going to have to have a serious talk about this._


	7. Takes The Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah struggles to uphold a boatload of commitments and Micah manages to land a cool internship. Then there is rescue and regret involving cake.

He wasn’t sure how long he was out. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, because when he groaned and lifted his head, the dust was still settling. He knew going in that this was going to be a risky operation but he hadn’t been expecting the _ceiling_ to come down.

Elijah blinked dust from his eyes and coughed onto the ground, sending a cloud of broken plaster particles scattering. He pressed his hands, scratched and bruised, to the cement beneath himself and started to heft himself up, then realized very quickly he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

A large beam pinned him to the ground, right at his waistline. Fortunately, the far end had been caught in a pile of other debris, so the weight was enough to hold him in place but not to crush him. Well. Not _much_ anyways.

He huffed for a breath and made a grab for the corner of the concrete, muscles straining as he pulled to no avail. He turned around and placed one hand on the beam, pushing valiantly in the hopes he could budge it enough to slip out but it refused to even tilt.

He’d let his head drop to the crook of his arm in momentary defeat when he heard her footsteps, lithe and strangely energetic, _click clack_ into the room. Not that it was much of a room anymore.

“You dead yet?” Amelia laughed, kneeling to peer under the overhang of the debris. She spotted him and grinned wickedly. “Aw, shame. Looks like you’re still kicking. You gonna come out?”

Elijah mumbled something rebelliously into his sleeve and she hopped closer, yanking on a strand of his hair because she relished how much he hated it.

“Can’t hear you, big boy. Speak up.”  


“I’m stuck.”  


“Really? Well, that’s absolutely delightful.” 

They both turned their heads at the sound of dirty laughter, and Elijah could see just well enough past the broken timbers to make out Travis’ face. The man scratched at his untrimmed facial hair, coating his fingernails with grime, before kneeling down as well.

“Report?”  


“The shipment went through. As you can see however, the passageway to the railroad is now closed from this side.” 

“Very.” Amelia cut in dryly as Travis rose to his feet again and crossed the floor to the decrepit old computer on one of the few desks that had been spared from the collapse.

Elijah grabbed hold of a cement block, aiming to make another attempt to pull himself free, when Amelia cheerfully ground her heel over his fingers and he pulled back in shocked pain, barely biting back a cry of distress.

“You just stay put for a minute.” 

“This is immensely juvenile, Amelia.” He wheezed faintly. “I can be of more use to both of you if-“

“Maybe we’ll just leave ya there for a night.” Travis suggested brightly as he downloaded a torrent of documents to a handheld drive. “The deal for getting you into Tenner’s circle was that you’d divide your time evenly between us and gang activity. You’ve been falling very short of that lately, kid. Maybe you could stand some time to think about where your priorities lie.”

Elijah made an effort not to tense up, to keep the fear out of his eyes. Travis would do it too, it wasn’t an empty threat. But if he looked like the idea scared him too much, it would seal the outcome. The two of them were just sadistic enough…

In a desperate bid to calm himself, Elijah reached for his phone - blessedly, in his shirt pocket where he could actually get to it. The screen was cracked but the display still worked. He had two unread messages, both from Micah.

(( _You’re still coming today, right?_ ))

(( _Do you want to swing by and meet me at the dorm or just look for each other once we get there?_ ))

Elijah propped his chin in his hand, his elbow on the ground, and tried to look as nonchalant as humanly possible while being unable to move half his body. With his other hand he typed out a quick reply.

(( _A little tied up at the moment. What time does it start again?_ ))

Out loud, to Travis, he spoke blithely. “I do have somewhere to be, you realize? I apologize for giving you the impression that I am neglecting our agreement, but I do not actually spend as much time in the inner city as you seem to think I do. I have other commitments, as well.”

“Dashing little schoolboy you are.” Amelia teased cruelly, kicking at the phone in his hand. Flinching, he managed to dodge the blow. 

(( _Starts in three hours. You okay?_ ))

Elijah sighed and resolved he’d give Micah more of the truth when he got there, but for the moment, answered with, (( _I am simply tending to a complicated matter. No major concerns_.)) As long as they didn’t actually leave him there. (( _I will meet you at the plaza if I manage to wrap things up in time._ ))

Travis had finished gathering his information - a commodity worth more than gold if you knew the right people - and returned to the center of the room, crouching down again to grin at the sight of Elijah’s blasé attempt at a bluff.  
“I suppose you’d just call the old lady if we walked out, wouldn’t ya?”

Elijah shrugged tiredly. “Who else?”

Although, he was momentarily granted the amusing image of Micah attempting to operate a forklift and instead knocking down another wall or two. He kept the twitch of a smile off his lips, but inwardly, he allowed the thought to console him. If he was selfish enough, he might _actually_ call Micah, if for nothing else than comfort while he waited the night. But the thought was ludicrous and the distress it would cause his best friend would never be worth it.

Travis grunted, reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a glowing blue vial.  
“These things are expensive, ya know.” The man grumped, uncapping it and knocking back the contents in one swallow. “Can’t believe I’m wasting one on you.”

“It would be my hope that the successful shipment would bring in threefold the amount you’d spend on a batch of dozens.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong. Once we get this mess cleaned up too, we’ll have another access point. I guess I can overlook your time quota. You really come through when it counts, don’t ya?”

Elijah nodded once, acknowledging Travis’ mild approval. The older man groaned faintly as a bright light rippled powerfully through his veins, down his arms and through his neck. He took a deep breath, then leaned over, grabbed the beam, and lifted, forcing it upwards.

Elijah scrambled out of the way just in time for Travis to drop the wood, letting it crash to the floor again. He pressed one hand gingerly to his side and winced as he stood, silently wondering how deep the bruise went. His legs and feet ignited with pins and needles as soon as he managed to get up.

“Thank you, Travis.” Elijah gave his token gratitude, biting his lip when Amelia jabbed him viciously where it hurt most. She was just casual enough to make it look like a friendly gesture, but the twist of pain it sent lancing up his ribs was enough to make him catch his breath.  
“Watch yourself, E. Don’t make yourself more trouble than you’re worth!”

Elijah closed his eyes to avoid glowering at her. He’d been working with Travis for four years; Amelia, only one. _She_ was the newcomer here, not him. 

“Best scamper off to your school day or whatever shit you got planned.” Travis smiled broadly, his hands tucked loosely in his coat pockets again. “Wouldn’t want any of your playmates to come looking for ya.”

Elijah turned away without another word, stepping over the crumbled remains of the wall and pacing stiffly out onto the street. He pulled out his phone once more and opened his messages, typing out a quick note and sending it.

(( _I’m on my way_.))

-

Micah sat, kicking his heels against the edge of the sidewalk. Elijah had said he was on his way more than two hours ago, and he still hadn’t shown up. If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss the opening announcements.  
Micah had just pulled out his phone with the intention to call him when a soft voice startled him from behind.

“My apologies for the delay, I-“

“Dude!” Micah laughed a little, sliding off the bench and walking around the back of it. “Was wondering where you were. Whoa… What happened to your head?”

Elijah looked freshly showered, his long hair still a bit damp, though tied into his usual ponytail. A small bandage was taped over the corner of his forehead, a little bit of blood seeping through. He touched the spot briefly when Micah mentioned it, brushing it with his fingertips as though he could wipe it away.

“It is not serious. I was assisting with an operation to establish a new station on the underground tracks. There was a minor… accident.”

“Well, you look like you’re mostly in one piece?” Micah hedged hopefully, then beamed when Elijah nodded and held out his arms ever so slightly.

Micah accepted the hug, wrapping his arms around his best friend warmly and smiling into his chest, but his cheer faded a bit when Elijah clung to him a bit more than usual, gathering him extra close and leaning his head down over his hair. Micah felt him sigh deeply.

“El? What’s wrong? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. It is just… I work with difficult people and I am glad to see you.”

“Bad day in general, huh?” Micah murmured, smiling again in affection when Elijah ruffled his hair before slowly letting go.

“Quite. However, I am more than a bit relieved that I managed to arrive in time.”  
“Yeah, twenty minutes to spare, too.” Micah encouraged, checking his watch. “So, how do you think this thing is gonna go?”

Elijah took Micah’s hand in his own, squeezing gently, and began walking in the direction of the plaza at a relaxed pace. “Well, this is the honors section of the internship fair. We may find it a bit more formal than what is typical. I expect there will be some opening remarks, then the students will be free to walk amidst the booths for a couple of hours. I would not be surprised if they served a meal indoors at the midway point, then allowed another opportunity to inquire with the various employers before closing the plaza for cleanup.” 

“Are you gonna look for anything?”

“If I can find anyone in the robotics fields who is looking to network with students, then I may very well make an investment in speaking to them, but I cannot afford any other time commitments right now. You have been looking to get a foot in the door at the biosciences research facility though, correct?”

Micah nodded, shifting his backpack strap slightly, holding back a frown at the scrapes he could feel on Elijah’s fingers. “Maybe it won’t even pay as well as filing paperwork, but I’d really rather spend summers working on getting actual experience.”

“I think that is wise.” Elijah glanced around at the grounds before looking forward again. “It doesn’t seem very busy yet. Maybe you can speak to your target opportunities early and stand out amidst the crowd by approaching them first.”

The two of them separated temporarily at the entrance to the roped-off area, agreeing to meet back in front of the stage once they had finished speaking to representatives of their differing interests.

Micah found the biosciences staff fairly quickly, but wasted a few minutes trying to calm his nerves as he watched other students visit the booth and easily strike up riveting conversation. He just had to introduce himself first, right?

Finally he steeled himself, took a deep breath, then ambled up to one of the attendants and held out a hand.

“Hello!” He greeted, forcing a smile and the woman politely smiled back, shaking his hand. _Okay. All according to plan so far._ “I’m Micah Greene. I’m studying pre-med and I was wondering if there’s any kind of available internships under your laboratory?”

“Good to meet you, Micah.” The woman said pleasantly, releasing his hand and reaching for a flyer. “Call me Amber. It would depend on what branch of research you were most interested in. Can you list off a few of the projects you currently follow so I can match you up with the right people to speak with?”

Micah froze, his reply sticking in his throat. He hadn’t even thought to look up research projects that were already in progress.

Amber waited patiently for a moment before her genuine interest smoothed into tolerant understanding and Micah felt his heart drop. He looked so stupid, waltzing up and asking for an opportunity to be handed to him without having done any prior research himself. For a moment he almost wished she would get annoyed with him rather than act as if this happened all the time. Because it probably did.

He could have sunk through the bricks underneath his feet when Amber smiled evenly again.

“Here,” she said kindly, picking up another two flyers and handing him the stack. “You’ll find the business office number printed in all of these, as well as some keywords to look up on our website, where you can read about our current endeavors. I hope to see your face around the facility sooner or later! Thank you for your interest, we appreciate enthusiasm from students like you.”

Swallowing hard, Micah nodded, dropped his gaze, and forced his feet to move, walking away from the booth and over towards the edge of the plaza. He sat himself down on a bench and stared at his shoes for a long moment before he opened one of the flyers and stared at it blankly, just to look absorbed in something so no one would approach him.

He didn’t want to stew, he told himself he _wouldn’t_ stew, but the negative thoughts kept crowding in until he was gritting his teeth to keep from tearing up. Not here. Not out in the middle of a crowd like this.

Of course it made sense to look into projects ahead of time. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He’d just made himself look like an entitled dunce, and walked away with nothing to show for it.

It was there that Elijah found him thirty minutes later, counting blades of grass to keep himself from digging himself even further into moroseness. When he looked up, face slightly red from the effort of staying dry-eyed, Elijah’s expression flitted with surprise before his brow drew in concern.

His best friend sat next to him, draping an arm comfortingly around his shoulders and pulling him to his side in a warm hug. Micah hefted a sigh, cuddling closer and drinking in Elijah’s steadfast care.

“Micah, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Micah muttered, pressing his forehead into his friend’s chest. “Not right now, anyways. How did things go on your end?”

“I cannot say that I have made any significant progress. I feel that it would be inappropriate to approach most of the attendants here since I do not have the freedom nor intention to enroll for an internship, and there are many students who came specifically to seek that opportunity out. For the most part I have stood nearby to some of the more technology-based research and industry booths and listened to any general talks that were given.”

“Huh. That doesn’t sound so bad, actually.”

“If you would like to come with me, we could look around at some of the more biology-based groups in the same manner?”

“Yeah, I think-“

Micah was interrupted by a bit of mic feedback, and he and Elijah both looked towards the stage, where one of the event hosts was laughing off the malfunction and announcing that it was time for the midday meal, catered by a series of local businesses.

“Oh good. Food.” Micah grinned, despite himself, happy to see Elijah’s gaze soften in amusement. He climbed to his feet, squinting suspiciously at his best friend when he stood as well, but with a slight wince.

“You good, man?”

“I’m alright.” Elijah sighed, placing a hand on his lower back before seeming to remember his usual stoicism and dropping it again. “I suppose I am still feeling the effects from this morning’s activities.”

“Are you hurt?” Micah wondered now, reaching out, but Elijah misinterpreted the movement and pulled him into another hug.

“Oof. No dude, let me see your back.”

“This is hardly the time or the place, Micah.” Elijah told him softly, releasing him and nudging him in the direction of the conference building’s doors. “I really am quite alright. Some bruising… and I expect I will be sore for a few days but it is nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Too late.” Micah muttered dryly as they trickled into the lobby with the other students and faculty. 

The first large room in the building had its doors propped open, and half a dozen rows of tables and chairs that stretched from one wall to the other. Places were set and the students and staff picked seats at random. The two of them slid into the first empty chairs they found, and Micah looked around in curiosity to see if he recognized any other faces.

The meal was served in courses and was actually quite delicious. Up on the wall stretched a large screen, and during the gathering, displayed a repeating slideshow detailing all the collective pursuits of the university’s internship program.

Micah felt instantly better when the first thing placed in front of them was a basket of hot, buttery rolls. He put two on his plate and bit into one, savoring the way it practically melted in his mouth, chasing the mouthful with a sip of the lemonade that had been provided. He’d downed both in record time when he felt Elijah gently prod his knee under the table.

“Remember to take it slow, Micah.”

“Oh. Right.” Micah sheepishly busied himself unwrapping the napkin from his silverware and placing the fabric square down on his lap. “They were just so soft though, it’s hard to chew something when it’s basically just a cloud!”

“Fair enough.” Elijah’s eyes were fond even though he’d shifted into his professional student mode. “Just be careful.”

The course that followed was soup and salad, mostly salad with little individual cups of onion soup. Micah doused his greens liberally with dressing, ignoring Elijah’s amused shake of the head. The soup was good too; it was strong but creamy, and he almost felt disappointed that the serving size was so small. 

The next dish made up for it, cuts of lean, baked chicken in a sweet and sour sauce, with a mound of rice pilaf on the side. Micah counted a few seconds in between each bite, making an effort to gaze around the room as he ate, to look alert and interested in what was going on.

Abruptly however, the flow of conversation was interrupted as a small group drifted in late, and were each provided with trays of food from the previous courses. They filled empty seats and integrated seamlessly into the gathering, and Micah almost choked on a heaping spoonful of rice when Amber sat down across from him and Elijah.

“Good afternoon, boys! Mind if I sit?”

“Please.” Elijah said smoothly, giving a small welcoming gesture. Micah could tell he was trying not to look his way in curiosity.

Amber smiled warmly and unwrapped her silverware, turning her gaze on Micah and further convincing him he looked the textbook definition of a deer in the headlights. “So, Micah, was it? Did you have a chance to look over the flyers I gave you?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I mean, yes, they were very informative.” He straightened up in his seat, catching a hint of Elijah’s sideways glance. “I haven’t had the chance yet to do any further searching on the website, but I definitely will when I get home today.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Amber nodded, looking over to Elijah now. “Friends, I take it?”

“Indeed.” Elijah sipped from his glass and tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Pardon my asking, but what happened to delay your group from beginning the meal with everyone else?”

“We were giving a collaborative demonstration and the questions that followed ran a little long.” Amber explained, biting into a piece of bread. “The food’s delicious I must say, I’m quite impressed.”

“I believe we would both agree with you.” Elijah replied and Micah nodded a beat later.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t introduce myself.” Amber held out a hand and Elijah clasped it with a brief, cordial shake. “I’m Amber Mills, I’m here with the biosciences research facility.”

“Elijah Brayler.” Elijah offered in turn, not hiding the way his gaze slid over to Micah now, and Micah silently cursed sheer, bad luck for putting Amber down at the one empty seat at their table. “So I assume the two of you spoke earlier?”

Amber winked and Micah wanted to crawl under the table. “Briefly. I’ve encouraged Micah to spend a bit more time looking into available projects before attempting to approach researchers for internship positions. I’m excited to see where you end up, Micah.”

An uncomfortably long moment passed, during which an intense look of contemplation came over Elijah’s face. Amazingly, he seemed to put it together, taking a bite of his meal and swallowing before responding to Amber again.

“With all due respect, ms Mills, undergraduate students often do not have any basis on which to judge what areas they are most interested in before they’ve taken part in research directly. Reading about projects on a webpage is one thing, but seeing firsthand the methods and approaches that are used is an entirely different experience.”

“You make a very good point.” Amber admitted, scooping up a bite of rice.

“Micah might not have had the resources to adequately prepare him to make an informed approach, but he is very interested in the kinds of real-world solutions the biosciences facility pursues.”

“Alright, Micah.” Amber laughed lightly, looking back towards him. “I can’t let Elijah do all the talking for you.”

Taking a deep breath, Micah went for brutal honesty.

“Okay well, I’m not as eloquent as he is.” Micah quipped, jerking a thumb in Elijah’s direction. “But if I’ve got anything going for me, I’m a hard worker. And I’ve put a lot of that hard work towards coming to college and getting a degree and eventually going on to med school. It’s something I’ve always wanted. But I can’t get there without experience, and I want the experience hours I get to be meaningful. Most of what I know about the biosciences facility is from news stories, yeah. But I saw the work you guys do, and it meant something to me, and I thought ‘I want to do that someday.’ So… if you know of anything I could apply for, even something small, I’m gonna put my all towards it, no matter what.”

Amber was giving him a warm, encouraging look, and underneath the table, Micah felt Elijah squeeze his knee in congratulations. He glanced towards his best friend and felt almost dazed at the brilliant pride he saw in Elijah’s eyes. Amber cleared her throat and Micah looked back to her.

“Well, Micah, I rather disagree, that was very eloquent. Here, why don’t you take this-“ Amber handed him a laminated business card that she pulled from her front pocket. “And if you have paper and pencil on you, you can write down your contact information and I’ll take it over to my boss.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Micah dug into his backpack resting at his feet and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper, jotting down his name, number, and email, and passing the sheet to Amber. She smiled and rose from her seat, heading over to the opposite side of the room. 

The final course of the meal was a dense, rich chocolate cake, served in very generous portions. Feeling a sense of adrenaline rush from his success, Micah took a huge bite and sat gleefully chewing through the soft, pleasurable sweetness when he suddenly realized that Elijah was looking down at his plate with something akin to dread.

“Aw hell.” Micah swallowed and poked Elijah softly. “Don’t make yourself eat that, dude, not if it’llbgive you a stomachache.”

“Amber is returning shortly and there are things I would like to ask her about the crossover between biology and robotics.” Elijah practically whispered back. “And her sister owns the bakery that provided the cake for the event. I cannot simply sit in front of her and not eat it.”

Micah gave Elijah a long look. “How the fuck do you even know that?”

“I looked for you near the booth while she was speaking to some other students. She mentioned it and seemed quite proud.”

Thinking quickly, Micah reached over and scooped up a corner of Elijah’s cake, depositing it on his own plate, filling the small space he’d already cleared. “I got it. I love chocolate cake anyways.”

“You aren’t too full?” Elijah argued slightly, a hint of skepticism in his voice. “I am not certain it would be a good idea for you to eat two whole portions of this. It is very dense.”

“Well, my tolerance to sweets is a lot higher than yours is.” Micah pointed out, taking more of Elijah’s slice and eating it quickly so it wouldn’t look like he had more than his own piece to begin with. “Shit, here she comes. Act natural.”

Amber returned to her chair, nodding in encouragement to Micah who beamed angelically back at her. “I expect you’ll hear from the lab sometime in the next week, Micah. I think you’ll enjoy the opportunities available to you.” She picked up her fork and dug into her own slice, and Micah deftly took advantage of her brief distraction to disappear another corner of Elijah’s cake.

“Ms Mills, I actually have a curiosity of my own that I would like to discuss.” Elijah spoke up, and Micah bit back a frown as his friend took a bite of the cake for sheer appearance’s sake.

“Amber, please. And of course Elijah, I’d be happy to talk with you regarding anything I feel informed about enough to discuss.” She glanced at their plates. “Enjoying dessert?”

“Yeah, chocolate cake is probably my favorite and this is the good stuff.” Micah complimented, entirely genuinely, which seemed to show through and prompt another smile from Amber.   
“Alright Elijah, what can I help you with?”

“I have been working on personal robotics projects for a number of years and I am interested in studying the similarities between technology and naturally-occurring organic computing systems, such as the brain and nervous system. I’m afraid I am quite pressed for time currently, so I have been reluctant to participate much in the fair, as I am unable to take on an internship. But I would be most interested in seeking a mentor… if you might happen to know of anyone who would be willing to provide guidance to a student in the field?”

“Oh, that’s an excellent question. Give me just a moment.” Amber bent her head, reaching for the purse she’d sat next to the leg of her chair, and Micah switched his empty plate with Elijah’s, stuffing down another bite of the remaining cake. Amber straightened up again, writing something on a slip of paper, and passed it across the table.

“The departmental head can be kind of difficult to get ahold of, but the researcher directly under him is someone I believe has been working on very similar pursuits throughout the course of his professional career. Give them a call, see if they have any opportunities you can make use of!”

“Thank you very much, Amber.” Elijah gave her a smile and tucked the paper away. “I greatly appreciate your help.”

Micah swallowed the last bite of cake and held back a groan as Amber stood, shouldering her bag and looking at each of them fondly one more time.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to return to the booth before the crowd leaves the dining area, but it was very nice meeting both of you. Micah, I’ll be looking forward to seeing you around the facility in the coming weeks.”

“Thank you so much.” Micah beamed, reaching out to shake her hand again, hoping the gurgle in his tummy as he stretched up wasn’t noticeable. Elijah didn’t react, so it must have felt louder than it was. “You’re the greatest.”

Amber laughed in delight, waving as she left the table. “Well, I do try my best. See you around, you two.”

“That was… impressive.” Elijah commented with deep humor as soon as she had gone, laying his fork down over the empty plate in front of him. “I never realized you were so stealthy, Micah.”

Micah grinned before pressing his lips together to both mask the soft belch that rumbled up from his belly and also to try to make sure he didn’t have any chocolate crumbs in his teeth. “Hey, you’re the one who kinda saved my ass regarding the internship.”

“I did no such thing. Amber was convinced by what _you_ said, not by my prodding.” Elijah stood from his chair and ruffled Micah’s curls. “Thank you though, Micah. Are you certain you feel alright?”

“Me? Yeah I’m just gonna take a nap now.” Micah feigned drowsiness and leaned back in the chair. “Unless you’re ready to go home?”

“I believe I will look in at a couple more booths first, if that is alright with you.”

“Yeah, go for it dude. Just text me and I’ll come find you when you’re done.”

Elijah nodded in agreement and headed outside again, and Micah, alone for the moment amidst the emptying chairs, pressed a hand to his middle underneath the table and hunched forward slightly with a groan.

“Ugh. Shit. This is so not happening.” He complained to no one in particular, forcing himself to stand on unsteady legs and moving towards the door.

He found an empty unlocked conference room just down the hall and all but fell into one of the open desks, burping into a fist and tasting chocolate at the back of his throat. He groaned and pushed his hands up underneath his shirt, holding his stuffed tummy gingerly and attempting to rub at the pain to little avail. That had been entirely too much cake. His belly felt so heavy and sore, cramping sharply every so often and burbling, shifting unpleasantly in between.

Micah sighed with difficulty as his eyes moistened and he tried to talk himself through it. If he just sat here and focused on digesting lunch for thirty minutes or so, then maybe the ache would ease up. However, his tummy seized on his very next breath and he whimpered aloud, clutching at his middle and trying not to get too worked up. Elijah always told him that getting worked up would make a stomachache worse, and Micah knew he was right.

Elijah… If he just admitted he’d overestimated himself, Elijah would want to help him feel better as fast as possible. Micah could call him and knew he’d come immediately, but he wanted so badly just to do this one thing for him. Elijah was always looking out for him, always taking care of him and lifting him up when he needed it. Even if Micah had ultimately said the right things to sway Amber, Elijah had planted the seed with his matter-of-fact confidence in him. Micah couldn’t watch his best friend eat himself sick on cake for the sake of politeness when he could do something about it. Just his luck, it had backfired spectacularly.

Micah moaned again when his stomach squeezed painfully, struggling with all the rich dessert he’d crammed down. He wrestled with the bellyache for a while longer, telling himself he’d get through it and to just relax, but it wasn’t long before he gave up. He just wanted Elijah’s comfort and warmth. At this rate, he wouldn’t even be able to hide it anyways by the time Elijah was ready to leave the event. Might as well not wait any longer.

Biting his lip against the tears, Micah kept one hand pressed to his aching tummy and pulled out his phone with the other, sending a quick text.

(( _Can you come here?_ ))

Mere seconds later, (( _Where are you?_ ))

(( _I’m in the conference hall, two doors down from where we had lunch_.))

Elijah opened the door to the room not ten minutes later, his eyes coming to rest on Micah immediately. He froze in place, and a look of blank horror came over his face before his expression closed off completely and he hurried to Micah’s side, sitting down in the chair next to him and immediately rubbing a soothing circle over his stuffed belly.

“I’m dumb.” Micah whimpered, nestling into the hold when Elijah hugged him, burying himself in his friend’s affection. “But I really thought I could do it! And- _unh_.” He grunted as Elijah’s hand massaged down over a pocket of air, then belched softly with another moan. “It really _was_ good cake…”

“Shh, just try to relax, Micah.” Elijah’s voice was comforting but strangely distant. His palm smoothed over the swell of Micah’s stomach in circles over and over with a soothing pressure and warmth. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin just above his navel and eased the pain tremendously. “Do you want to try to get home?”

“In a minute.” Micah groaned softly, unable to keep from arching into the touch, and Elijah obligingly pressed down a little more, working out a terrible cramp and helping Micah settle slightly. “Just… keep doing that, please. I’ll let you know when I can get up…”

“Of course. Try to take deep breaths, Micah.”

-

Elijah stroked his fingers softly over the roundness of his friend’s belly, as Micah lay sleeping, tucked into bed with a hot water bottle hugged close to his waist. He’d started feeling better a couple of hours ago, but his stomach was still grumbling and so Elijah was still rubbing, wishing more than anything that he’d not been foolish enough to allow Micah to talk himself into eating both desserts.

Micah shifted in his sleep and murmured something unintelligible, but it was a soft sound and not a pained one, and so finally, Elijah drew his hand back and draped the blanket more fully over Micah, carefully to avoid waking him.

As he rose from the bed, Elijah leaned down and pressed a kiss to Micah’s temple, moving away when another quiet sound made him suspicious that his best friend maybe wasn’t fully asleep yet. But by the time he reached the doorway, Micah was snoring lightly, peacefully.

Elijah sat on the couch in the living room and stared at the wall for a long moment. Then he reached up and pushed up his sleeve, feeling the cut he’d forgotten to tend to from the building’s collapse that morning.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it _was_ painful, and had scabbed over slightly, sticking to the inside of his sleeve with a slight crust. He had been wearing a jacket the whole time, so no one had noticed the bloodstain, but he’d have to take care to wash it out later when he did his laundry.

Elijah ran his fingers along the small wound, feeling the slight ridge where the debris had sliced at his skin. He found the edge of the scab with his fingernail, and breathed evenly, staring at the wall.

Clenching his fist, he dug his fingernails directly into the cut, viciously, tearing the skin open and breaking the scab apart. He squeezed until he could feel the hot trickle of blood down his arm, then he squeezed a little longer and a little harder. He only let up in time to stop the blood from getting on the cushions on the couch.

_You never learn your lesson, do you?_


	8. An Acquired Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah brings sushi for Elijah and steals his chicken. Elijah eats far more sushi than strictly necessary and enjoys a textbook food coma.

Elijah opened the door by a crack, immediately frowned, then closed it, undid the chain, and pulled it wide again, glaring mildly at Micah who stood on the other side, beaming, the picture of innocence.

“Surprise! I brought food.“ Micah pushed past his friend before Elijah could even open his mouth, plopping a large, bagged container down on the counter and kicking his shoes off. He started to dash over to the couch when he felt Elijah’s strong arms circle him from behind and hold him in place.

“Oh no you don’t.” Elijah growled faintly, shutting the door with one hand and locking it. Holding onto a squirming Micah with difficulty, he took both his friend’s shoulders in his hands, and firmly turned him around to face him. Micah quailed a bit at the intensity in his eyes.

“Micah, just because you were able to come here alone once or twice without any trouble, does not mean you can continue to do so without facing serious consequences. You _must_ have me with you at all times when traversing areas of the city known for their gang activity. This is _not_ going to happen again unless there is some kind of emergency. Do you understand me?”

Micah swallowed, realizing only then that Elijah’s stance on this was a lot more serious than he had originally thought. And he trusted his best friend’s judgement on this, which meant…

“I’m sorry.” He said, dropping his gaze. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about the actual risk. I won’t do it again, promise. Unless, I dunno, the sky is falling or something.”

Elijah let out a long sigh, his hands sliding away from Micah’s shoulders slowly. He nodded once, his gaze no longer admonitory, but incredibly tired. With a groan, Micah shoved himself back into his friend’s arms and hugged him around the waist, burying his cheek in his sternum. Elijah’s voice rumbled in his chest with a noise of faint surprise as he returned the embrace, holding Micah closely.

“Okay, if it’s illegal for me to waltz down highly suspicious streets then it’s illegal for you to give me that Sad Bastard Face when I’m trying to agree with you!” Micah complained, giving a final squeeze before letting go of Elijah just long enough to reach up and put both hands on either side of his face, squishing him slightly with a glare. 

Elijah looked amused now, he even chuckled softly, his facial hair tickling Micah’s palms. He gently pried his friend’s hands off his cheeks and held them both in his own, squeezing softly before letting them drop.

“Alright, that is perfectly reasonable.” Elijah turned, lifting a hand to catch at the corner of the bag, peering into the contents as Micah stopped to sniff the air. “Now, what is this?”  
“Sushi, from Sasha’s mom. Kinda smells like you were already making lunch, huh?” Micah swung around the end of the counter, trotting over to the stove where a skillet was simmering. “Is that the lemon-basil chicken you were telling me about? Smells great.”

“Why did Mrs. Ede send sushi?” Elijah wondered, lifting up one of the containers to look at the other underneath. “And so much of it, too?”  
“She apparently was going to host some kind of dinner party? Long story short though, they had like a minor family emergency and canceled it last minute.”

Elijah looked towards Micah in worry, prompting him to hold up his hands in a placating manner. “No, no! They’re okay! Jacob had a little fender-bender downtown, nothing too bad, but he got whiplash I think? They took him to the doctor and he’s gonna have to have a couple physical therapy sessions, but he’s already complaining about it. You know Jake, right, Sasha’s older brother?”  
“We have spoken once or twice.” Elijah nodded, taking the containers out of the bag so he could fold the tote neatly. “I am glad to hear that he is alright, for the most part at least. It was very kind of Mrs. Ede to send this all with you.”

“Yeah, I asked if she wouldn’t mind if I took a little bit to bring to you because fish is your favorite. Her response was ‘oh, just take it so I don’t have to find room in the fridge!’” Micah laughed, reaching up to the cabinet and taking down a plate. “So if you wanna eat that, I’ll eat your chicken.”  
“You don’t want any?” Elijah asked, slightly bewildered, even as he made a mental note to write Sasha’s mother a thank-you card. Micah shook his head, scooping the chicken and some of the simmered vegetables onto his plate with a spoon.

“I actually don’t like sushi.” He admitted, then laughed again at the disgruntled look on Elijah’s face. “Hey, it’s not for everyone! I like other kinds of fish.”  
“Other drawer.” Elijah said, noticing Micah rummaging around for the serrated knives in the silverware. “The one closest to the refrigerator.”  
“Got it. Thanks!” Micah grabbed a knife and a fork and took his full plate to the table with a glass of water. Elijah put one of the two large containers of sushi in the fridge, sitting down with the other across from Micah.

“You gonna eat _all_ of that?” Micah grinned, getting up to get another glass and hand it to his friend. “All at once?”  
“Sushi does not keep for very long, even refrigerated.” Elijah protested, accepting the water and taking a sip. “Thank you.”  
“If you manage to eat the contents of an entire container _that size_ -“ Micah swallowed a bite of chicken, shaking his head humorously. “I will be legit impressed. You should eat on the couch, though.”  
“How come?”  
“Dude, you are so not gonna want to move around after even half of that.” Micah smirked, gesturing with his fork. “Sushi isn’t messy anyways, right? I usually see you eat it like a finger food.”

Elijah gave a hum of assent, rising from the table with the container and his glass in hand, moving over to the couch where he settled himself on one end amidst the throw pillows. He set his water down on the small coffee table, propped the open container on his lap, and peered over the contents. 

There were several rows of differently prepared varieties, each row a different kind and with slightly differing ingredients. Some were wrapped in seaweed, some had brown rice, some white. The fish varied from imitation crab to fresh salmon, and there were a few with veggies tucked in, eggplant and avocado and cucumber.

Elijah picked up a piece of salmon nigiri and popped it past his lips, standing to retrieve a napkin before returning to the couch. The taste was fresh and bright; the fish was pleasantly flavorful and the sticky rice had an enjoyable chew. A flicker of delight put a faint smile on his face as he reached for another piece, glancing up in curiosity when he heard Micah chuckle.

“You eat those things in one bite.” His friend pointed out, scooping up a forkful of peas and smiling in his direction.  
“This is how they are supposed to be eaten.” Elijah said, filling his mouth again.   
“Aren’t they supposed to be eaten with chopsticks, too?”  
“This is how I _prefer_ to eat them.” Elijah quipped, a rare hint of sass in his tone. He picked up a piece from a sliced roll that had crab, avocado, cream cheese, and brown rice. As he bit down, the soft cheese accentuated the buttery taste of the crab and he hummed a little in pleasure.

The apartment was relatively quiet for a few minutes while the two of them ate, then when Micah was finished he got up to clean his plate and leave it in the sink. He made his way over to the couch and sank down onto the cushions with a satisfied sound, nestling up to Elijah’s side when he put an arm around him.  
“Thanks for letting me steal your lunch.”  
“Thank you for bringing mine.” Elijah smiled, brushing Micah’s hair gently before moving a hand down to his friend’s belly and rubbing warmly over the soft curve beneath his shirt.

“Hmm… that’s nice but I feel pretty good.” Micah assured him, leaning back a little further and yawning. “What about you? You’re not getting full yet?” He reached over and poked Elijah’s flat stomach experimentally.  
“Hnf. Stop that.” Elijah lightly batted at Micah’s hand. “A little, I suppose. I think you might be underestimating me, Micah.”

Micah laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He peeked over his friend’s arm to the sushi box, looking contemplative. “So… if I were to make another attempt at liking sushi, which one should I try?”

Elijah considered for a moment, then pointed to the cream-cheese-and-crab roll, tilting the box so Micah could reach over and get a piece.  
“This one doesn’t have any actual raw fish in it, you might like it a bit more.”

Micah eyed it suspiciously for a moment, then stuffed it into his mouth in one bite, chewing laboriously around the large mouthful. He swallowed and returned to leaning against Elijah’s side comfortably, giving a sigh.  
“Eh, it’s okay but still not what I think I’d normally eat.”

Elijah ate another piece of the same roll, chewing slowly to savor it before picking out a piece with tuna and cucumber. “Suit yourself. I have heard that it can tend to be an acquired taste.”

Micah fished for the TV remote, flipping through channels, settling on a laser-light game and settling drowsily back against the couch.  
Elijah steadily worked his way through the box of sushi, eating one or two similar pieces before going to the next and back again. The salmon nigiri he finished fastest, both because he liked it most and it was a nice simple taste to go back to after some of the more elaborate rolls, but there were some other varieties with salmon in them as well. The taste of the fish soon filled his senses and reminded him of the seaside, which gave him a sense of comfort and happiness he rarely felt. 

He’d gotten through a little more than half the container when his stomach rumbled and he groaned faintly, shifting and leaning back as Micah looked up at him.  
“You okay, dude?” His friend reached over and tucked a hand under his shirt, over the bulge in his middle, just beginning to show, and rubbed a soothing circle.

“Yes, I- mmm.” Elijah lost his train of thought a little when Micah pressed down encouragingly and smoothed out the squeezing sensation he was beginning to feel in the roundness of his belly. “I am just taking a break.”  
“Don’t pass out on me.” Micah teased, stroking the curve of Elijah’s stomach comfortingly and changing the channel again. He brushed his thumb over one of the more prominent scars on his friend’s lower belly, then rubbed a palm down his side and Elijah grunted softly in relief. The muscles of his abdomen loosened under the touch and eased the pressure of how full he was beginning to get.

After a few more minutes of Micah’s attentive massage, Elijah picked out another piece, chewing and taking a sip of water. He’d tried each variety already but was beginning to consider the roe bites his second favorite out of the box. The almost gooey texture had something like a sweetly savory flavor to it, bursting in his mouth. He’d eat a piece of that, then a couple bites of the one veggie roll, clearing the taste so he could savor it again, over and over. 

He was truly beginning to struggle with about a roll and a half left in one corner of the box, groaning quietly as a loud gurgle squeezed through his insides, drawing his hand to his middle. Micah abandoned the kitschy fashion show he was watching, turning to Elijah with a chuckle and pushing up the hem of his shirt so he could rub his belly easier.  
“You giving up yet?”  
“No…” Elijah sounded less sure now, moving his own hand in favor of Micah’s touch. He felt almost drunk with fullness but didn’t feel too uncomfortable yet. His swollen stomach rumbled warningly just as Micah pressed down over the swell and he managed to cover his mouth as a soft belch escaped.

“You could probably fit the last of that into the other box and call it a day. Or I could.” Micah added as an afterthought with a laugh when Elijah made a face at the thought of getting up.  
“Don’t want to.” He grunted, eating another piece and swallowing with difficulty. Something like a whine trickled through his gut and he looked down in a comical fashion, sending Micah off into giggles again.

“Don’t hurt yourself, man.” His friend grinned, smoothing his palms up and around the bulge of his stomach, pressing and rubbing to try to ease the tightness he could feel. “Is this just you being stubborn over what I said?”  
“…Maybe.” Elijah mumbled, reluctant to admit it. He ate another mouthful and washed it down with a drink of water.  
“What’s that saying, pride goes before a fall?”  
“I don’t take pride in many things.” Elijah argued, shifting again and stretching out a little, trying to relieve the pressure on his stuffed belly, leaning back further with a low groan.  
“Didn’t think your _stomach capacity_ was one of them.”  
“Not that.” Elijah rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully and sighed in relief when Micah’s fingers drew out a bit of tension in his muscles again. “…Perseverance, I suppose.” 

He took another sip from his glass and forced another couple of bites down. He was biting the pieces in half now, chewing slowly and swallowing with difficulty, as they almost seemed to stick in his throat. A sharp pain sliced through his engorged stomach and he squirmed slightly against it, but determinedly pushed through the last few pieces. He burped into his fist before picking up the last piece, eating it in one go, and closing the box, letting Micah take it from him and set it aside.

“Hey you did it!” His friend laughed in delight, shoving the empty container to the other side of the couch and pressing both palms over his belly again, which was now gurgling in earnest. “How ya feeling?”  
“Nngh.” Elijah moaned, shifting uncomfortably. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, unable to think much past the weight of his cramping stomach. “Hurts.”

“What?” Micah shot him a glare and pressed down a little more, almost unintentionally, dislodging another small belch that Elijah covered belatedly. “You were supposed to stop before your tummy started hurting, fuckwit.”  
“I was almost finished.” Elijah objected, trying not to regret the pulse of pain in the center of his belly. He tried to relax and take deep breaths, finding even that somewhat difficult with just how much food he had crammed down. His lungs felt crowded for space as he gave a shallow sigh.  
“You’re the worst.” Micah grumped, rubbing over the dome of his belly, pushing out from just underneath his ribs. “Now I feel bad.”

“You should not feel bad, Micah.” Elijah put an arm around him comfortingly, hugging him close and prompting an irritated sigh. “I was, as you said- _ngh_.” His friend massaged out a cramp with one hand that relaxed him slightly, easing the ache. “I was being stubborn.”  
“Good point. Am I helping at all?”  
“Yes.” Elijah groaned in relief, reaching up with difficulty to pull the tie from his hair, making it easier to lay his head back as he closed his eyes. He cracked one eye open again with a glance at Micah and a soft, amused smile. “You are actually better at this than you used to be.”

“How did I use to be?” Micah sounded almost offended, and Elijah ruffled his curls affectionately, reassuring him.  
“Well-meaning but irregular prodding.”  
“You’re so out of character right now.” Micah complained, smoothing his hands over a gurgly spot and getting a relieved hum in return. “You’re never this _snarky_ , damn it. I think you’re high on raw fish.”

Elijah sighed, turning over slightly onto his side towards his best friend, putting both arms around him in a warm embrace, pulling him into an almost-cuddle with just enough room for Micah to keep rubbing a circle over the tightest part of his belly with one hand.

“I have never once minded. The gesture has always comforted me, regardless of anything else.” A faint look of bewilderment crossed Elijah’s face. “The fact that I seem to rank so high on your list of priorities is-“  
“Okay, shut up.” Micah growled, giving Elijah’s stomach a bit of a rough pat and getting a grunt in response. “Sorry, that was a little hard. Does it still hurt?”  
“Not nearly as much.” Elijah stifled a yawn. “Thank you, Micah.”

Micah smiled, tucking his head beneath his best friend’s chin and delighting in the warm sound of love Elijah mumbled out drowsily. “You wanna try to sleep the rest of it off?”  
“Hmm, yes.” Elijah’s eyes were already closed. “Did you turn the stove off earlier?”

“Yup. Go to sleep, you behemoth.” Micah patted his stomach again more gently, rubbing over the swell with his warm palm. The motion was the last thing Elijah felt before he drifted off, falling so deeply asleep he wouldn’t wake again until late in the evening.


	9. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah, Elijah, and Sasha attend a Luminoir party in costume! Micah eats a bit too much candy… and then a _lot_ more candy. Sasha and Elijah have a run in with a troublemaker…

“You know what. We should’ve planned for this ahead of time.”  
“Micah, it is alright, I do not require a-“  
“It is _so not_ alright, dude. If you leave this building without a costume, the willowisps will eat you.”

Micah looked over his shoulder sternly as he delivered the reprimand, and Elijah, looking as though he was trying to suppress a smile, obediently settled. He pulled the tie out of his hair, letting the long strands fall down by his face, then placed the headband with devil’s horns over his head obligingly and gave Micah a curious look.

“Hm, forget it. You need a better resting-bitch-face than that to pull duskir off.”  
“I have a very mean face.”  
“You have the face of an overgrown puppy with a beard.”

The two of them were rummaging around in a costume-chest in the school’s theater department, graciously allowed into the props closet by Cole and Jordan. The other students had already headed over to the party, leaving Micah to don the vampire outfit he’d selected, as well as run his thinning patience slowly into the ground trying to find something that fit Elijah and looked even halfway decent. 

“They just don’t make Luminoir costumes for tree people, you absolute fuck. Couldn’t you try being a more normal height once in a while?”  
“I do not believe I am going to dignify that with a response.”

Micah shoved aside a werewolf mask after determining that it would be both too small and too itchy to inflict on his best friend, whom he knew for a fact would go along with anything if it meant pleasing him and being a good sport, when his hand brushed a piece of coarse, white fabric.

With a mild frown, Micah pushed away a few more smaller costume pieces that were resting on top, and grabbed it, pulling a huge white sheet out of the pile with a bit of difficulty. Elijah came over to help, and once they’d disentangled it, Micah found two small cutouts near the middle, that had been sewn over on one side with a tasteful black mesh. Barely able to contain his laughter, Micah tossed one edge of the sheet over Elijah’s head, then stepped around to his friend’s back, pulling the hem down over him as he stood.

Elijah adjusted the sheet until he could see out of the two eye-holes, looking down at Micah expectantly, delightfully formless. He made an absolutely brilliant bedsheet ghost.

Micah was laughing too hard at first to voice his approval, but finally he nodded. “Well, it fits, if nothing else! You look like you just stepped out of a kid’s cartoon, but maybe it’ll be enough to protect your bones from getting munched on.”

There was a long pause as Elijah looked towards one of the backstage mirrors, and Micah waited, a tinge of worry creeping in when his friend didn’t say anything for a moment, and he reigned back his humor.  
“Uh, it’s okay with you, right? I mean, we can keep looking if-“  
“I love it.”

Micah stopped, taken aback, but then grinned broadly, looking up to the blank eyesockets of the costume’s fabric, suddenly wondering how a tall, shapeless mass could possibly exude so much amusement and warmth. “Really? Any reason why?”  
“I am not entirely sure. I just do.”  
“Well, we better get over there while the night’s still young.”

“I agree. Sasha will be waiting for you, and I am certain most of the games are likely to be held before midnight. Remember, we are moving the check-in time down to twenty minutes.”

Micah waved a hand reluctantly, grabbing his backpack from the corner of the stage. “Yeah, I got it. No worries dude, I’ll watch the drinks this time.”  
“Also, do _not_ eat any candy that has already been unwrapped. Or any of those that have resealable wrappers.”  
“Got it. Chocolate and taffy only. Maybe those little packets of gummies and candy corn.”  
“Those should all be safe, yes.”

The two of them left the theater building behind, carefully re-locking the door as per Jordan’s instructions, then hurriedly made their way to the bus stop at the corner of the block. The driver laughed at the site of them, nonetheless waving them on board good-naturedly, and they sat amidst a multitude of witches, walking pumpkins, and merfolk.

Micah adjusted his plastic fangs just as they reached their stop, grabbing Elijah’s sheet covered hand and hauling him off the bus so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd. A few other costumed individuals hopped off with them, and then the doors shut and the bus pulled away, taking the others off to their various gatherings and parties. Luminoir’s biggest fans were always the youngest kids and the liveliest college students, it seemed.

Elijah put a white-draped arm more fully around Micah as they approached the door, pushing past the group jostling just in the entry-way, then let go and took his hand again once they had a bit more breathing room. Micah scanned the crowd intently until he spotted Sasha, her wings covered with a silvery, glittering fabric and white paint over her brows and cheekbones. She wore a crystalline dress that shimmered as she walked. She spotted them and smiled at the same time Micah released Elijah to bound towards her, knowing his best friend would follow closely.

“Hey babe.” Micah gushed as he wrapped her in a hug, kissing her quickly, and she laughed in delight. “What are you supposed to be?”  
“I’m an ice elemental.” The girl winked, taking in the two of them with another bout of laughter. “A ghost and a vampire? Isn’t that a little cliche?”  
“We waited til the last minute like idiots and just grabbed something out of the theater props closet.”  
“I see. Cole and Jordan to the rescue as always, huh? Are they here, speaking of which?”

“Cole, Jordan, and Macy are at another gathering this evening.” Elijah spoke up from behind them, the folds of his sheet fluttering softly in the breeze from the open front door. “They met us at the theater department and spent some time picking out their own costumes before heading out.”

Micah peered over the edge of Sasha’s wing, towards the kitchen. “Have they started any of the games yet?”  
“Nope, you two got here just in time. They’re doing apple-bobbing first, I think. Are you joining in, El? Or are you the designated sober-friend as usual?”

“The usual.” There was a smile in Elijah’s voice as his formless arms reached out, taking the straps of Micah’s backpack and easing it off his shoulders. “Where would you like me to put this?”

Micah glanced around the room. “Could you just set it over near the coat-rack?”  
“Of course. I will stay near that corner if you need anything.”  
“You got it. Thanks, man.”

Sasha and Micah watched as Elijah moved away, arranged Micah’s bag with care near the aforementioned coat-rack, and deftly squeezed himself in one corner of the room, waving at them from under the sheet once he’d planted himself. They both giggled at him and waved back, then shouldered through the crowd towards the drink bar. They grabbed cans, turning down the offered open cups, and responsibly grabbed handfuls of soundly-packaged chocolates after Micah whispered Elijah’s warning in Sasha’s ear. 

Elijah observed silently from the corner, as ghouls and dryads danced and partied across the floor, candy was thrown haphazardly across tables, and drinks were passed around, glad shouts exchanged. He kept an eye on Micah and Sasha as long as he could see them, but they soon disappeared out towards the backyard pool area for the apple bobbing game, and he resigned himself to waiting until they were in his field of vision again, or until Micah came back to check in with him.

He started when someone poked him in the side, looking down and scaring some poor girl who screamed as soon as he moved. Apparently he’d been mistaken for a prop, and he stiffened, regretful to have upset her, but then she suddenly burst into laughter, threw an arm around him, and snapped a picture with him. Dazed, he stared at the far wall in a minor state of panic. She was clearly already drunk, he reassured himself, and obviously couldn’t tell who he was. That was all, there wasn’t anything to be concerned about. Everything was alright.

He watched the front entryway as the minutes ticked by, making a mental note of anyone he vaguely knew who came through the door. Since Valerie was, of course, welcoming to other minorities like herself, he saw plenty of avesians, felikens, and saurolins join the mix. Frankly it was hard to tell past the costumes, but most humans were identifiable by their lack of moving tails or wings. 

A small group of athletes pushed their way into the room not long later, and Elijah tensed, eyes growing wide as he recognized them. The leader was a jock by the last name of Rousseth, the one he’d had it out with on the laser-light fields a few weeks ago for threatening Micah. What in the world was a well-known group of purists doing at an inclusive Luminoir party? He supposed it could have something to do with their families being high up in the political spheres, and their sense of entitlement to go where they liked and do as they pleased, but they shouldn’t _want_ to be around the groups of people they claimed were lesser beings and treated with nothing short of disgust. The very idea was inane.

They shifted out of view among the crowd relatively quickly, and Elijah wavered for a moment on whether to follow them to be sure they weren’t up to anything suspicious, when a familiar weight crashed into his side and he found his sheet-covered arms full of a delighted Micah.

“Hello, you two.” Elijah smiled beneath his costume and hugged his best friend back warmly, freeing one hand enough to ruffle his hair as he gave him a squeeze. “You look encouragingly sober.”

“We’ve only had like, a beer apiece, big guy, give us some credit.” Sasha laughed, humoring Elijah with a hug from her as well when he held out his other arm.   
“Did you enjoy the apple bobbing?”  
“Well, neither of us won anything.” Micah said dryly, letting go of him and tossing a taffy in his mouth, chewing. “But yeah it was kind of fun seeing everyone get soaked. I lost my damn fangs, though.”  
“The theater department will not miss them much, do you think?”  
“The fangs were mine, I grabbed em for like a buck at a mart the other day. I just got the cape from the props chest.”

Elijah lifted his head again and looked around, then wound his arms around both of them again and pulled them close, getting curious looks.  
“El?” Micah poked him softly and Elijah lowered his voice.

“Rousseth and his crowd are here. They just walked in the front not too long ago.” He nodded when Micah and Sasha both immediately scowled fiercely before he continued. “I have very little idea what they may be doing here, but I would try to stay out of their path if I were you.”

“Shit. What’s the next game?” Micah whispered to Sasha across Elijah’s broad chest. “It was gonna be the three-legged race, wasn’t it?”  
“Yeah, hopefully they wouldn’t even participate in that, in the interests of avoiding touching one of _us_.” The girl spat. 

Micah reached out and rubbed her shoulder soothingly, careful of her costume, and opened his mouth to say something but she sighed and shook her head, waving his words away.  
“Sorry, I know I’m bitter.”  
“You have every right to be.” Elijah told her softly, and she looked up at him, then grinned.  
“I can’t take you seriously with that ghost costume on, big guy. You look brilliant, by the way. Very fitting.”  
“Yeah, we couldn’t _find_ anything else that fit him.” Micah snickered, squirming as Elijah poked him teasingly in the side.

Elijah lifted his arms, letting them both step back, and nodded towards the back door. “Enjoy the game, just keep a close eye out. I will be here if either of you need anything.”

Sasha squeezed his arm and Micah beamed at him, then they slipped away, back into the crowds of people and made their way back outside. Elijah scoured the room for several minutes, finding himself hoping to his own surprise that Valerie herself might make a convenient appearance. She was probably out back hosting the games, but as empty-headed as she played herself sometimes in order to attract “male attention,” she would not stand for purists showing up at her party.

The music track changed and there was a commotion from the direction of the kitchen, but he was able to relax marginally when it turned out that someone was just putting out some baked goods. Probably drug-laced, if he had to guess; he’d have to encourage Micah to stay away from them.

A rumble of distant thunder sounded over the house and Elijah looked up instinctually, his gaze of course hindered by both the ceiling as well as the sheet covering his head. A downpour would put an end to any games that were going on outside. And sure enough-

The screen door was shoved open and most of the party-attendees rushed back inside, shaking droplets of rain off their costumes before it could soak in. Micah and Sasha must have come in with the rest of the group, but Elijah didn’t see them until about fifteen minutes later, when Sasha approached from one direction and Micah from the other.

“We lost each other in the rush and texted each other to meet up at ‘base Elijah.’” The girl laughed, putting an arm around her boyfriend who had a hand pressed to his middle. Elijah immediately gathered him into a hug.  
“Did you get very wet? Are you feeling alright?”  
“I’m good.” Sasha assured him with a nod, though she looked a little tipsy. Micah made a face.

“My tummy kinda hurts. It’s not that bad but…”  
“He’s been shoveling candy down the whole evening.” Sasha laughed softly, patting Micah’s curls and getting a bashful smile.  
“You have also not been checking in with me on time. We have been here almost two hours.”  
“But I haven’t been drinking much.” Micah argued, and Elijah sighed.

“I think we should probably leave… Rousseth being here is making me uneasy and if you already have a stomach ache, then…” He trailed off as he lifted his hand out from under his sheet and pressed his palm down over Micah’s belly, massaging gently and getting a soft sigh of relief.  
“I might stay a little longer, if that’s okay with you?” Sasha asked her boyfriend and Micah grinned at her.  
“Yeah! Don’t worry about us, we’ll probably head back and watch some spooky movies or something. Do you have someone to walk home with?”  
“Oh yeah, Jake’s here somewhere. I’ll flag him down when I’m ready to go and we can go home together.”  
“Sounds good. _Ow_ -“ Micah whined a bit and Elijah patted his back. “Yeah I think I just wanna crash for the night. Damn, I didn’t make it very long, did I?”

“We will get you some tea and crackers when we get home.” Elijah said comfortingly, holding him a little closer. “I hope you had fun as long as we were here.”  
“Yeah.” Micah grinned broadly as he looked up into Elijah’s ghost-face, then glanced in aside to Sasha. “It was totally worth it.”

-

When they got back to the apartment, Elijah settled Micah on the couch after his friend had changed into the set of sleep-clothes he kept there, bringing him a mug of lemon tea and a plate of cheese and crackers, assuring him the protein and salt would help balance out the sugar in his system. He rubbed over his stomach gently and untied the cape from around his neck, putting it off to the side with his ghost sheet.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Micah asked with a yawn and Elijah gave him a knowing look.  
“I think you might fall asleep soon after we start it if we did.”  
“Aw, come on! There’s a whole bag of candy in the cabinet, and I got some popcorn after I got out of class today. It’s in my backpack, here, lemme-“  
“ _You_ do not need any more candy, Micah, and I would rather avoid it anyway.”  
“Aw shit. El, I think I left my backpack at Valerie’s.”

Sure enough, the two of them glanced around and Elijah got up, searching around the base of the couch, but the backpack was no where in sight. Neither of them could remember bringing it with them on the bus either, so Elijah pulled his shoes back on and grabbed his keys.

“Do _not_ leave the house while I am gone.” He ordered sternly and Micah nodded earnestly. “I will be back in less than an hour, hopefully. You might even just go ahead to sleep, I will try to be quiet when I come back in.”  
“Say hi to Sasha for me.”

Elijah allowed a flicker of a smile to cross his face as he stood, handing Micah a thick blanket and grasping the doorknob. “If she is still there, I will tell her. Eat your crackers.”

And with that, Elijah hurried out into the dark streets, locking the door behind himself firmly.

-

As he approached the house, he stopped in his tracks as horror washed over him, then he was running, feet pounding the pavement as he tore up to the front porch, yanking open the door of the dark residence.

The inside of the house was like a ghost town. Streamers and party trash littered the furniture; drink cups were overturned, candy wrappers were everywhere. The music still thrummed out it’s unsettling base, but not a footfall echoed in the empty house. 

Fearing the worst, Elijah grabbed up Micah’s backpack from under the coat rack, slinging it over his shoulders and making a beeline for the screen door. He shoved back the pane and darted out into the yard, dread snaking a cold grip down his back when he spotted them. Then a wave of nausea washed over him and he knew.

Rousseth had cornered a group of avesians along with Valerie and one Feliken and was jeering loudly at none other than Sasha, who had her hands clenched, staring down the jock with fire in her eyes. Magic sputtered in the air, sparks flying every which way, and Valerie was clutching a useless phone in her hand, the signal impeded by a spell.

Steeling himself, Elijah walked directly up to the group, sliding forbiddingly between Rousseth and Sasha without a word. The jock had frozen when he spotted him, then his face split into a grin as he snapped his fingers and the magic around him dissipated. “Well, look who’s here. You ganging up on me with the rest of the filth, Brayler?”

“Sasha, go inside.” Elijah growled, then felt her nails dig into the skin of his arm. He looked down at her in shock, then felt his heart stop with dismay when he realized how drunk she was. She fruitlessly tried to lunge around him to continue yelling at the boy across from her. Elijah caught her and held her back.

“Tell you what, big guy, if you can talk little miss parakeet here into shutting her mouth and walking away, I won’t take this to the authorities.”

Elijah froze. Valerie… the phone… she had tried to call for help. But the police force would never take the side of a saurolin over a human, and the son of a highly influential politician at that. On the laser-light fields, there had been school moderators to keep Rousseth from throwing his weight around. Here, it would just be the words of a few kids. It made sense why the jock and his crowd had cleared out the house in such a short time.

“You purist _scum!_ Fuck off right back to hell where you came from!” Sasha screamed from behind Elijah’s arm. He turned and took the girl by both her shoulders, backing her up several steps.

He was careful not to hurt her, but his heart broke with the way she looked up at him. Complete shock, total betrayal. The stabbing regret he felt didn’t help with the sick feeling in his stomach. He swallowed hard.

“We do not want any trouble.” He said over his shoulder to Rousseth, who grinned maniacally, and crossed his arms. “I am certain you have gotten what you came for. Please leave the premises.”  
“I want an apology first.”

Sasha took a breath to yell another profanity, and hating himself for it, Elijah covered her mouth with his hand as he stood, tucking her under his arm and holding her fast. Her struggles were useless against him. He could feel the dampness of her tears dripping onto his fingers. He looked Rousseth directly in the eyes and spoke.  
“Please accept my apology for the group. I am sorry that your enjoyment of the evening was interrupted, and I hope you can forgive us.”

Sasha cried behind his hand and he could have torn out his own heart where he stood. He kept his eyes on Rousseth, and the jock looked back at him, before slowly shaking his head.  
“Nice try, Brayler, but the damage has already been done.” Rousseth smirked, malicious intent in his smile. “This isn’t over.”

The jock and the other two boys with him turned and left the yard, unhinging the gate and striding confidently out onto the street. Elijah waited until they were out of hearing range before he glanced around at the other students, who all looked in various states of drunken shock.  
“You should all get home.” He said quietly. “Valerie, go stay with one of your close friends tonight. Someone you can trust.”

Then he let go of Sasha, steadying her on her feet, taking his hand from her face and her shoulder. With a shriek of rage, she swung, slapping him full across the face and digging her nails across his cheek, leaving a row of red scratches.  
“What have you _done?!_ ”

The others stepped back in shock, then hurried away, leaving Sasha and Elijah to have it out in Valerie’s backyard. He raised a hand to his cheek and stepped back a pace, but said nothing as she continued to scream at him.

“What the fuck was _that_ , Elijah? Playing right into their hands? I guess you’re all tough and macho until it comes to actually standing up for what’s _right!_ ” She was sobbing as she hurled accusations, and he closed his eyes. “You _absolute_ ** _traitor!!_** ”

 _You don’t understand… let me explain…  
_It had been a very long time since he had been reminded how badly words could hurt when they came from a loved one. It had been a very long time since he had lived in a state of having loved ones. Elijah’s breath stuttered as he opened his mouth, wanting more than anything to reassure her, to explain why all of this was necessary, to ask her to please just listen.

“Sasha, you are very inebriated and it is getting very late. I think you should call Jacob to come get you and take you home.”

_Let yourself be the bad guy. Let her direct her hatred at someone who would never, ever hurt her. It doesn’t matter what you feel. It doesn’t matter how she sees you. It doesn’t matter. You don’t matter.  
_ _Do what is necessary to keep her safe._

_You don’t matter._

“I can’t believe you.” Sasha said now, a hollowness in her eyes that felt like claws digging into his heart, leaving blood-welling grooves in their wake. “I can’t believe you. I never would have thought that you, of _all people_ , could stoop to this level? Where the fuck did this kind of cowardice come from, Elijah?”  
“Would you like me to wait with you while you call your brother?”

“ _No!!_ ” She bellowed, wings flaring with her fury, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. “And if I didn’t have to talk to Micah about this, I’d say I never wanted to see you again!!”  
“I suppose we will discuss this at a later time then. Goodnight, Sasha. Please be careful getting home.”

Elijah lowered his hand from his face and turned away, leaving the girl behind in the yard, his chest growing tighter with pain with every step he took.

-

_Micah could barely keep from skipping as he ran up the driveway, clutching his paper in his hand, a broad snaggle-toothed smile on his face. He’d gotten the highest mark in his class on his paper and he’d been recommended to the school showcase for a special award. He had spent weeks on this paper, and he couldn’t be more proud of it. He hoped Mrs. Thompson would be, too._

_“Mrs. Thompson?” His small voice echoed through the kitchen as he eased the door open from the garage, and he heard the sounds of her cooking dinner, chopping vegetables and the scent of baking bread wafting through the air.  
_ _“Hey Micah darling, come on, don’t let the cold air in!”_

_Micah hurried through the open doorway and shut it behind him, shrugging off his backpack and opening his mouth to announce the grade on his paper, when the Thompson kids came thundering down the stairs, pushing and laughing and all dressed up in costume. His heart jumped at the reminder that tonight was Luminoir. There had been posters and decorations up at school all week._

_“What have you got there, Micah?” Mrs. Thompson said with a smile, holding out her hand. He placed his schoolwork into her palms and smiled up at her. He almost always got rewards for good grades in school. And this one was extra special. So maybe…_

_“I got a special award at school for my project! My teacher said it was the best grade in the class!” He wrung his hands together nervously. “I was wondering if… maybe… since I did such a good job… I could come with you tonight?”_

_Mrs. Thompson looked surprised for a moment, then her smile turned saccharine and Micah felt his heart drop._

_“You did a very good job, I can see the lovely comments your teacher made.” The woman said first, pointing to the ink pen writing on the page. “Mr. Thompson and I will take you out for ice cream this weekend instead, how does that sound? The kids and I just want to keep this a family tradition for now, but you won’t go without a treat darling, I promise!”_

_Micah struggled not to let his eyes well up with tears as he nodded. When Mrs. Thompson was distracted by the clatter of one of the kids knocking over the pot of noodles on the stove, he grabbed his backpack from the floor and ran for the stairs._

_He took the steps two at a time until he reached the loft, where his bed, dresser, and few belongings were. He’d been told he would be staying her for a year total, and there were only about two months left. He’d move out just before the celebration for Heida’s Peace, and maybe it was for the better._

_He cried, coughing against his tears as he dug in his backpack for the little packet of candy corn his teacher had passed out to everyone one in class that day. He opened it and savored each little sugary treat inside, pretending he was digging into a bucket full of candy from a night of trick-or-treating._

_He looked out the sliver of window near his bed, and just happened to catch a glimpse of another child, just arriving home from school._

_The little girl was holding a finger-painting, crumpling a little as she walked. Her mother came out of the house to greet her just as the bus pulled away, with a little hat in her hands that looked like a penguin head. When she saw the little girl’s paper, she stopped and took it from her, putting the hat down on her daughters head with a little nudge, then taking her hand in her own and carrying the painting into the house like it was a masterpiece of the highest quality. The little girl giggled as she clutched her mother’s fingers, her other little hand reaching up to pat the penguin head in excitement, knowing exactly what it meant for that night._

_It was like someone had set out to shove his life in his face.  
_ _Here, Micah, take a look at your life, and at the lives of normal kids._

_Take a good, long look._

-

Micah dug another piece of candy out of the bag, unwrapping the chocolate slowly and biting into it, the taste so far from pleasurable at this point that he knew at any moment he was going to be sick.

At first it was just going to be a piece or two while he watched a hokey old spook film. His tummy had started feeling better a few minutes after Elijah had left, and he just wanted something to munch on while he chuckled at bad special effects and bedsheet ghosts not unlike the costume his friend had been wearing all night.

But somewhere along the line he’d opened a few mental doors that he really should have left closed. Some of them he couldn’t even remember fully; there were so many Luminoirs and so many other holidays come and gone at so many different foster homes he could barely keep track. He always tried to remind himself of the Harris family and the Salinas family… the ones who had kept him for a good solid three years apiece. They had made him feel like part of the household - Mrs. Salinas had even asked that he’d call her “ma.” 

 _They_ had loved him… or at least, he kept telling himself that was the case. Both families had still let him be taken away without a fight when the foster care system had said it was time to move…

Micah dug for another piece of candy, then his fingers seized as his whole body convulsed with a wave of pain, and he lay, staring up at the ceiling, wondering _why the fuck haven’t I thrown up yet?_

Maybe it was still catching up with him. Maybe his body was still trying to register the mass of sugar sitting like a cement weight in his stomach. His entire abdomen was torn with pain so intense he could barely breathe, could barely think straight. He was certain he was crying, and had been for a while, but the tears traced silent tracks on his cheeks as he could not muster the breath energy necessary to work up a full sob. A sticky gurgle worked its way through his belly, from top to bottom, trickling through the mound of chocolate sludge that he was regretting more and more by the second.

It hurt _so fucking much_.

He heard the lock on the door click and couldn’t move as he heard Elijah come in the door, presumably see him with a pile of empty candy wrappers and absolute death written all over his face, and stop, catching his breath.

“I’m gonna throw up.” Micah told the ceiling, and three seconds later, was scooped off the couch with a speed and a strength that was so gentle, he never would have thought it possible.

Despite Elijah’s best efforts however, Micah had been far too thorough in torturing himself, and as soon as he was moved, his stomach convulsed again and he threw up, all over both of them and the floor. Pain rang like fire through his entire torso and he cried out in a violent sob with the movement, and then he threw up again, just as Elijah set him down on the bathroom floor, half-cradling him, and held his head and neck above the toilet so he could finish emptying his stomach.

He half expected Elijah to yell at him, to demand what in the world he thought he was doing, eating all that crap when he already hadn’t been feeling well, but his best friend just told him over and over, “It’s alright, it’s alright…” in a soft and tender murmur as he comforted him.

Desperate to focus on anything other than the agony in his belly as he heaved and threw up another wave of sludge, Micah thought about each little movement Elijah made and every word he whispered designed to soothe him.

Elijah’s hands rubbed his back and tummy softly, stroking slowly enough to distract and lessen the pain but without the pressure that would hurt even more against the roiling heat beneath his skin. In between bouts of vomiting, he slowly cleaned up the mess around them, pulling off Micah’s puke-stained shirt and easing off his sweats, until he was only left in his boxers, his skin exposed to the cool air. Elijah’s fingers combed through his curls sympathetically, the pad of his thumb and index finger massaging down into the muscles on the back of Micah’s neck when he threw up again, finally only spitting up a bit of fluid this time. He’d emptied his system, but the pain was still unbearable, and he couldn’t stop crying, it still hurt so much.

When he finally lifted his head, sure that he wasn’t going to throw up again, he felt Elijah’s arms circle him and lift him up, then set him down in the bathtub, where he quickly stoppered the drain and turned on the hot water. The steaming flow filled the tub, submerging Micah’s trembling legs and then his belly, and the relief he felt at the heat was so immediate and full-bodied that he let out another sob, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

Elijah turned the faucet off when the water reached Micah’s ribs and then dipped his hand down into the tub, scooping up a handful of warm, steamy water and pouring it over Micah’s ribs and chest, rubbing a circular pattern over his tummy as he moved his hand down. He repeated the motion over and over; scoop, pour, rub, building a pattern and massage that combined every relief of the hot water with every soothing motion of his hand. When Micah gave a broken little sigh, his friend moved away for a fraction of a moment, filling a small plastic bathroom cup with cool water from the tap, and brought it back to him to sip on while he kept rubbing his tummy and scooping hot water over his skin, the same soothing movements, over and over.

When Micah finally managed to take a deep breath without his stomach feeling like it was tearing in two, he looked up into Elijah’s face, prepared to stutter out some kind of excuse, but his best friend’s eyes were so sorrowful and grief-stricken on his behalf that Micah just broke into another sob, and when Elijah leaned down to press their foreheads together, Micah barely whimpered the words he’d tried to eat away under a mound of chocolate he knew he would have never been able to handle.

“I w-wasn’t ever good enough, n-no matter how _hard I tried_ …”  
His voice shattered into a wrenching cry at the end and Elijah plunged his other arm down into the tub, soaking himself as he wrapped Micah up in a tight, fierce embrace, his other hand never stilling over his swollen abdomen, still rubbing and soothing while he held him like there was nothing more precious in all the world.

“What the fuck is wrong with me… how could that many people just decide I’m _worthless_ if- if it wasn’t actually true! What did I do _wrong!_ Am I just that unlovable? I-I don’t understand, I just wanted to _belong_ somewhere, I- just wanted a _f-family!_ I-”

“ _Micah_.”  
  
Micah’s tirade stuttered to a halt at the pain in Elijah’s voice. Then suddenly, his best friend’s shoulders bowed inwards as he shuddered, then choked, coughed over his hair, and then, Elijah began to cry.

For a moment Elijah just sobbed, cradling him, still rubbing his tummy and holding him closely, crying over him, his voice wracked with broken sounds that Micah would never be able to put names to if he lived a hundred years. Then finally, Elijah seemed to find his words.

“It wasn’t _you_ , Micah… It was never _you_. Love is such a risk… and people are so scared, all the time; fear drives every action and word of the world and the people who turned you away were too weak of heart to risk their love for someone they never even tried to truly know. You deserved so much better and the way things are run in this _filthy_ city took every chance you might have ever had to put down your roots but that doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of love and everything else.”

Elijah lifted his head and raised the arm that was behind Micah’s shoulders slightly in order to comb his sweaty curls back from his face, and Micah looked up into his best friend’s tear filled blue eyes as he cried and held him and told him he loved him with a never-ending stream of words and actions.

“I know that hearing it once or twice isn’t going to make up for everything you went through… I know it hurts and I know it’s hard to see past what happened before, but you have to believe me that every thing that tells you that you aren’t worthy of love is a _liar_ , Micah. You’ve only been on your own for a couple years now… and look at how many people love you already. Sasha, your friends, and… well, I might not count for much, but-“ Elijah sobbed out a small laugh, “I’m here too. I’m here too…” Elijah leaned over and kissed Micah’s forehead, squeezing him tightly again, holding him closely. 

“Y-you’re-“ Micah stuttered a little, groaning low in the back of his throat, and sighed with relief when Elijah scooped up another handful of warm water and pressed it over his tummy, rubbing soothingly. “You’re talking k-kinda funny…”

Elijah coughed again, which might have been intended as a laugh, then answered, “My apologies. I suppose I had a momentary lapse.”  
“N-no I don’t mind. I sort of l-like it, actually.” Micah reached up gingerly, careful of his throbbing middle, and wrapped his arms around Elijah’s neck, soaking him further, but hoping he wouldn’t mind too much. 

For a while, the only sounds were the splash and trickle of water as Elijah scooped handfuls of soothing heat over Micah’s chest and tummy and rubbed, and the gurgling sounds that made it very well known how sick Micah had made himself over the course of the last hour or so. After some time had passed, Elijah gently disentangled himself just long enough to drain the tub a little and refill it with hotter water, then come back to lean over Micah and look at him in concern.

“I am going to bring you some more tea and some blackened toast. Try to hold still and call for me if you need anything, do not try to get up on your own.”  
“Okay… thanks El.”

Elijah patted his stomach soothingly before he stood, and Micah heard him go into the kitchen, set a mug to steep and the toaster on high, before moving back to his own bedroom and start changing, presumably into his own sleep clothes.

When he came back into the bathroom fifteen minutes later, he had a small tray that he balanced on the edge of the tub, handing Micah a mug and one of the pieces of toast.

“Did you get everything cleaned up?”  
“Yes. Eat that. And drink your tea.”  
“I’m sorry I threw up on you and the floor…”  
“You are forgiven. You should never have eaten that much candy at once, what were you thinking?”  
“Uh… I wasn’t really. Was trying to _avoid_ thinking, actually.”

Elijah sighed sadly and ruffled Micah’s damp curls with a soft touch before reaching down and rubbing over his belly again, with tender, circular motions that eased the terrible cramping ache. Micah nibbled at the toast, trying not to drop crumbs in the water, and sipped at the mug of tea, barely resisting the urge to fall asleep in the tub when Elijah spoke up again.

“When you have finished the toast and tea, we will move you into the bedroom so you can dry off and change into comfortable clothes again. I have water boiling on the stove for the hot water bottle, but I am going to want you to try to drink a full glass of water before you go to sleep. You will feel better in the morning if you do not go to bed dehydrated. Also-“ Elijah stopped and hesitated, and Micah looked at him curiously.

“What’s up?”  
“…When I went back for your bag at Valerie’s house, Rousseth had started a large confrontation that I have reason to believe will have quite significant consequences. Sasha and I… actually had a bit of a fight.”  
“You _what?_ ”

Elijah patted his tummy softly once, silently urging him not to get too excited. “I know the way I handled the situation greatly upset her. She was very drunk, so her opinion may change slightly within the next day or so, but I am prepared to speak with her and take full responsibility for my actions. I am sorry, Micah… I did not intend to cause her so much distress and hurt… but I know she wants to speak to me again with you present. It may be best to wait until the end of the weekend, when both of you are feeling better again.”  
“It’s only like… Friday night.”  
“I know. But tomorrow you may still need easy meals and a good deal of rest and fluids to drink. Depending on how she handles alcohol, she might find herself in a similar situation. I imagine Sunday will be the best time to attempt to address this. I promise I will do everything I can to smooth things over with her.”

Micah gave Elijah a long look. “Did you do the right thing?”  
“Not in her eyes.”  
“What about in _your_ eyes?”

Elijah sighed slowly. “I acted the way I believed I needed to in order to prevent Rousseth from taking actions that would result in severe physical harm to her and the other students still present. But I still hurt Sasha deeply and her sense of justice and fairness. Whether or not I did the right thing will not remove that hurt. I will still make every attempt to show her how much her feelings do matter to me, even if I apparently ignored them tonight.”  
“…What about _your_ feelings? What did she say to you?”  
“My feelings do not matter, Micah. She was the one Rousseth was antagonizing, not me. She is the one who feels the day to day effects of purists like him who throw their weight around with no consequences. I allowed him to leave tonight with no consequences. She feels, probably rightfully, betrayed by that.”

Micah finished one piece of toast and reached for another. “…But Rousseth might have done something to hurt her physically if you hadn’t stepped in?”  
“I believe so. He was already using magic when I arrived.”  
“There’s nothing more shitty than this kind of situation, but I know you didn’t mean to hurt her, El. You don’t have to like… put yourself down so hard.”  
“Whether or not I intended to hurt her does not remove the effect. I still wish to apologize to her and attempt to smooth things over.”  
“Okay. Well… I guess that’s all we can do for now. I can’t do much other than just be there to listen to both of you, I think.”

Elijah took the empty mug and plate and set them aside, reaching over to drain the tub and lift Micah in his arms. He took him into the bedroom, set him down carefully on the carpeted floor, right next to a towel and a neatly folded pile of pajamas.  
“Try not to move too fast, but change into these while I get the hot water bottle, alright?”  
“Okay.” Micah squeaked, holding his tummy gingerly now that the hot water of the bath wasn’t there to soothe it.

Elijah rose and closed the door behind him, and Micah stiffly peeled off his wet boxers and changed into the fresh clothes. The underwear and sweats were his, but Elijah had given him one of his own hoodies, all big and fluffy and warm, and it smelled like him too. Micah instantly felt comforted when he pulled it over his head, and he lifted his arms towards Elijah when his best friend came back in the room and leaned over to pick him up again and put him on the bed.

Elijah tucked him in and gave him the heating pad, which Micah clutched to his aching tummy in relief, then accepted the water glass that was also handed to him, holding tightly to his friend’s hand when Elijah started to leave.  
“Wait… can you sleep with me tonight?”

“I will, Micah, I just need to straighten up in the kitchen a little bit and then I will come right back.” Elijah leaned over to kiss his forehead and Micah sighed, closing his eyes. He fell asleep before Elijah even crawled back into bed with him and put a hand over the part of his tummy that wasn’t covered by the hot water bottle.

-

Elijah stepped back out to the main part of the house, emptying the still-boiling pot into the sink and turning off the stove. He picked up his phone from where it rested on the counter, and checked the missed calls, knowing what he’d find.

He still grimaced at the number that flashed up on the screen, and with a deep breath, pressed the return call button. He left the house as the phone rang and climbed the rungs of the ladder that went up to the roof, trembling as he went higher, trying desperately not to look down.

He tucked himself behind a block of concrete once he was out of sight of the street level, and out of hearing-range for anyone who might pass below. A gruff voice answered at the other end of the line and barked out a few urgent sentences.

“Are you certain?” Elijah asked, glancing over the city skyline, in the direction he’d come from earlier when he had gotten off the bus. “There is no way to redirect them from afar?” 

Another few words rattled over the connection. Elijah leaned back and passed a hand over his face in dread.  
“I will handle it. No, do _not_ send Sutherland. I have a group of volunteers.”   
The man got testy with him and Elijah took a deep breath.  
“I understand the risks. I will leave no trace.”  
A single word was spoken then, and Elijah nodded, even though his contact couldn’t see the motion.

“Understood.”

The line went dead and Elijah climbed precariously back down, reentered the house and locked the door, then went back to bed with Micah and put his arms around his best friend to hold him closely.

There wasn’t going to be any getting away from this unscathed. Not this time.


	10. Serious Symptoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up directly from where the previous fic left off, the kids deal with the aftermath of the events of Luminoir. A wounded and ill Elijah receives care and the truth about society is brought to light.

Elijah woke slowly, tempted to cling to the comforting darkness of sleep a bit longer, but knowing as he roused that if he didn’t hurry, there would be severe consequences.

Ever so gently, he eased out of the bed, reaching over and sliding the tepid hot water bottle out of Micah’s hands and taking it into the kitchen with him. He spent about twenty minutes, refilling the pack and cooking a light, easy-to-digest breakfast oatmeal that he covered and left in the oven on a low warm setting. Making his way back to the bedroom, he tucked the hot water bottle back under the covers over Micah’s belly, set a full glass of water on the nightstand, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to his best friend’s temple. Micah shifted, blinked, then looked drowsily up at him and smiled warmly.

“Good morning.” Elijah murmured, stroking his fingers gently through Micah’s soft hair, brushing a stray curl back from his eye. “How are you feeling?”  
“Um… kind of icky.” Micah’s voice was thick with sleepiness before he yawned. “Can I sleep longer?”

“Of course.” Elijah slid his hand under the edge of the covers and rubbed a comforting circle against Micah’s slightly bloated stomach, still a little out of sorts from the candy binge the night before. “I made you some breakfast, it’s in the oven when you are ready to get up. Try not to add too much honey to it, your system needs a break from sugar for a little while. Drink plenty of water. I will be back later today, remember not to leave the house.”

“Where’re you going?”  
“I will tell you when I get back. It is somewhat complicated, and I need to get moving, and you need more rest.”

Elijah kissed him again and stood, laying the covers back over Micah’s waist, a softness touching his eyes when his best friend sighed and drifted off again. 

The house was quiet for a while after the sounds of the door opening, closing, and being locked, and Micah slept, hugging the warmth of the water bottle to his still slightly achy tummy, on the edge of a good dream because the pillow beneath his cheek smelled like Elijah. When he woke a second time, sunlight was drifting in through the window and he felt remarkably thirsty. He sat up slowly, feeling weirdly stiff, and picked up the glass of water by the bed, downing almost half of it in one go.

Micah took the glass with him into the kitchen, setting the water bottle on the counter to refill for himself later, and used a potholder to fish the pot of oatmeal out of the oven. The food had a warm smell and a pleasant thickness to it, but after Micah had sat down at the table with a full bowl and a refilled glass of water, his first thought was that it could use some honey. Then he remember Elijah’s warning and chuckled to himself. His best friend knew him far too well.

Wanting to be able to tell his friend later that he did the smart thing and listened to him, Micah picked his way through the bowl without adding anything except a bit of milk to make it easier to scoop up with his spoon. After a few mouthfuls, the bland, starchy porridge actually soothed the little bit of uneasiness left in his stomach from the night before, and he made sure to take careful sips of water in between. He’d probably still nap some after he ate, but he was already feeling a lot better.

Just as he scraped up the last of the oatmeal, Micah suddenly paused, staring at the far wall as a shocked realization swept over him. Elijah had _cried_. He had full-on sobbed, hugging Micah, his shoulders shaking, his breath coming in little gasps.

Micah had _never_ seen his best friend cry before. Maybe that was why it had so instantly calmed him. Everything had felt so terribly broken and dark and his thoughts were raw with painful memories and then… Elijah had swept in, soothed him, held him close, and cried for him. 

_For me_. Micah struggled to grasp the concept, remembering the tears streaming down Elijah’s face. _He cried for me_ …

-

Elijah waited. His breath misted into the chilly air, he clutched a knife down by his waist; the gun holstered at his hip was a last resort, because the echo of the shot would draw even more unwanted attention.

There was really only one place that a member of the Ede family could be surreptitiously attacked. Jacob drove to and from work every day, since the small mechanics shop that employed him rested on the edge of city limits, and it was impractical to go by bus or tram. There was one small road that was little more than an alley, connecting the city avenue to the country road that Jacob traveled every morning and every evening. 

Elijah had found the rune that would cause the car to stall, sputtering to a halt, but could not find a method with which to disable it effectively. If he could use his own magic then he could interrupt the pattern, but so few individuals had access to the kind of training necessary to awaken that part of themselves, and then to hone it effectively. That kind of privilege only came with money, power, and the freedom to use it in the light of day, not skulking around in the shadows.

So instead, he hid himself at the corner, and waited. Undoubtedly the enemy was already present, and had already spotted him. Why they hadn’t attacked him raised more than a few questions, but they were easily answered, and none of the answers were good. If they hadn’t leapt into action, they probably thought he was one of theirs. And if so, that meant that this wasn’t a pristine, well-structured theoretical license stop. There would be no polite city officials making veiled threats. Someone had hired gang members for their dirty work, and they would make it look like happenstance. 

Two of his own would be waiting nearby, but they wouldn’t step in unless it looked like Elijah couldn’t handle it on his own. That was the agreement at least, but once the blows started flying it was often hard to stay out of the fight. Once that adrenaline hit, standing still was agony.

Standing still _now_ was agony. Elijah sucked in a breath through his teeth and looked up at the misty grey sky, waiting for the telltale motor of Jacob’s old truck. To his right, a figure approached directly, crouching into the hiding place, and Elijah was careful not to stiffen or give any outward acknowledgement of the figure’s presence.

“You wanna take the right, I’ll take the left?”

Yes, they definitely thought he was one of theirs. Elijah nodded slowly once, refusing to speak, but the man fell silent, apparently satisfied. It was almost half an hour before the truck came rumbling down the road, chugging laboriously along, Jacob behind the wheel.

Just before the front tires crossed the rune line, the man next to him turned, and shot him a huge grin.  
“Go time, huh?”

Without a word, Elijah spun, ramming his knife through the muscles of the man’s neck, gouging his life from his body as the thug let out a blood-curdling scream. Fear had no place, thought had no foothold; the only things that mattered in the following madness was action and reaction, defense and aggression.

—

Micah jolted awake with a start when he heard the slam of the door being thrown open.  Scrambling out of bed, he reached the doorway of Elijah’s bedroom just in time to see his best friend fall to his knees and kick the door shut behind himself. 

“ _Elijah!_ ” Micah leapt forward, his hands reaching for Elijah’s shoulders, but he squeaked in surprise when his friend gently shoved him back, standing unsteadily and stumbling into the kitchen, where he yanked open a cabinet and grabbed the medical kit, as well as a small, black case that Micah had never seen him use before.  
“Elijah, what are you- _oh!_ ” Micah gasped in horror, his hands flying to cover his mouth as he suddenly noticed the wound.

A shallow gash stretched over the length of Elijah’s side, diagonally from ribs to hipbone. It oozed blood and something darker, something murky, and the edges of the wound curled white and papery.  
Even as Micah felt unable to tear his eyes away from the injury, Elijah was working.

His best friend ripped open two differently colored packets, dumped the two powders into one palm where they inexplicably turned into a paste, and smeared the mixture liberally onto the surface of the wound after he pulled off his ruined shirt with the other hand. The flesh audibly _sizzled_ , the blood bubbling, and Elijah cried out in pain, bending forward and bracing himself on one arm, and finally Micah snapped out of it as he fell to the floor beside his best friend and sobbed, clinging to Elijah’s opposite shoulder.  
“What _happened_ to you? Elijah, talk to me!”  
“ _Micah_ … it’s alright, just- just give me a moment, I’ll explain, but I have to-“

Elijah shuddered as he snatched at the zipper on the black case, pulling out a small glass bottle filled with a translucent liquid. He grabbed a syringe out of the medical kit, tore open the sterile packaging, then punctured the vein at the crook of his arm, drawing up a full volume of blood. He withdrew the needle, then plunged it through the rubber lid of the bottle, injecting the liquid with his blood, and it instantly shimmered into a brilliant, luminescent gold.

In two seconds flat, Elijah tossed aside the syringe, opened the bottle, and knocked back the contents, swallowing rapidly at the golden liquid. As soon as the last of it disappeared past his lips, he shuddered again, and a single pulse of light ran through his entire body, lighting up every vein in a beautiful, terrifying display. He groaned, a guttural sound, then fell back against the cabinet, holding his stomach and shivering.

“Elijah… Elijah…” Micah wept quietly, tugging at his best friend urgently, and finally, finally, Elijah lifted his hands and pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair.  
“Micah, it is alright, please calm down, you do not have to-“ Elijah’s words cut off as he gagged faintly and Micah whimpered and pressed a hand down over Elijah’s belly. He could swear he felt it churning, and Elijah looked absolutely miserable.  
  
“Elijah _what_ is going on?”  
“I was wounded with a poisoned blade, Micah.” Elijah gasped breathlessly, swallowing hard. “I took a panacea. A full dose is usually too much magic for one person but since I could not be certain what kind of poison it was, I had to take the risk.”  
“What the _fuck_ is a panacea?”  
“It is a magic potion that can be sold and transported in an inactive state. It will reverse the effects of any poison if ingested quickly enough. Even throsthire.”

Micah froze. Horror paralyzed him for a long moment, then he pulled back to look at Elijah, and his best friend quickly cupped his face in his hand at the sight of his terror-stricken eyes.

“No, Micah, it wasn’t throsthire. I would be having an entirely different reaction right now if-“ His voice cut off again when he convulsed slightly, turning his head away to burp miserably into a fist, gold dust falling from his lips.  
“Oh goddesses… what is it _doing_ to you?”

“It’s alright.” Elijah placed both hands on his cheeks now, stroking gently, holding Micah close. “Listen to me. For the next several hours I may become very ill, and I might display an array of worrying symptoms. Some may be from the panacea, some may be from the small amount of poison that was absorbed before I made it back. But I am _not in danger_ , do you understand me? I will be sick, but the panacea is ultimately an antidote. If at any point I become unresponsive, you must not make an attempt to contact any sort of legal or medical services. I know it may be frightening, I’m sorry. I would not have wanted you to have to be here to see this. But you have to trust that I am not lying to you to placate or falsely reassure you. I will be alright. I promise, Micah.”

Micah bit his lip and pushed himself further into Elijah’s arms, hugging him tightly and taking a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I believe you. This is gonna _suck_ , though.”  
“I agree.” Elijah moaned in reply, then gagged again before swallowing hard.

“Fucking hell…” Micah pulled back and put his hands back over Elijah’s belly, rubbing softly, feeling a sense of panic when he realized that small lights kept flickering all over his friend’s body, lighting up little sections of his veins before disappearing again. “So why do you sound like you’re about to puke up a shitload of your intestines?”

“Too much magic.” Elijah hiccuped miserably. “Not enough poison to absorb it all. But I must keep it down until the wound itself illuminates. Then I will know the poison that remained in my blood has been completely neutralized.”

“Okay well…” Micah tried rubbing Elijah’s back a little when he belched deeply, a glittering cloud floating from his mouth as he clutched at his own abdomen. “Fuck. Wow that’s doing a number on you… let’s get you into the bathroom so you can get rid of the rest of it as soon as it’s done it’s job.”

Elijah nodded, one hand clamped to his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. After a few seconds he pried them open and grasped at the edge of the counter above his head, hauling himself shakily to his feet.

Micah tried to help support him as he staggered into the small bathroom, collapsing into a heap between the toilet and the bathtub and curling there pitifully. Micah ran into the other room and quickly grabbed a pillow and blanket, bringing them back and trying to tuck Elijah in. Elijah always made Micah up a cozy little bed in the bathroom while he was throwing up.

“Hey, lift your head a little, asshole.” Micah murmured, wedging the pillow beneath his best friend’s cheek when he complied a moment later. Elijah convulsed again, and a strange, crackling gurgle worked its way through his stomach. He gasped for air, then burped, and Micah could swear he saw a little stream of golden liquid trickle from his lips and then evaporate into a shimmering mist. Elijah swallowed desperately again and Micah laid down on the floor behind him, feeling helpless, winding both arms around his waist and pressing his hands against Elijah’s heaving stomach.

“How long is this going to take?” Micah asked in a mumble, only half-expecting an answer, but Elijah cleared his throat and shook his head.  
“Since I do not know what kind of poison it was, there is no way to be certain. However, the light spots you see on my skin should be moving towards the wound as the panacea runs it’s course.”

Sure enough, Micah sat up again just enough to peer curiously at the flickers of light in Elijah’s veins, and they were gathering, getting closer and closer to his right side. Micah smoothed his palm comfortingly over Elijah’s rumbling tummy, laying his cheek on his upper back in as much of a hug as he could manage. He winced a little when he heard Elijah moan, felt him almost writhe against his touch and the tiled floor. It was hard to believe something that was supposed to be an antidote could make someone this sick… but if Elijah promised it would help, Micah had to believe him.

Suddenly, a light flared, and Micah squinted into the intensity as bright beams shone from the wound on Elijah’s side, then disappeared another instant later. Elijah coughed. “That was it.”  
“Well that was fucking incredible.” Micah muttered almost grumpily, rubbing Elijah’s back. “Okay you can throw up now, right? Give your poor tummy some relief.”  
Elijah shivered. “I hate throwing up…”

Micah sighed, pressing down a little more with his fingertips against the tenseness in Elijah’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s any way to avoid it dude… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound this-“ he broke off as Elijah gave a strained gag and groaned. “-barfy, before. You sound like those frat guys that show up at parties just long enough to down a whole keg and then spew it everywhere.”

Elijah made a little sound that may have been something like a protest, but it was so small and forlorn that Micah leaned over quickly and kissed his best friend’s forehead, stroking his shoulder gently. “Come on man… just get it over with.”

With immense reluctance, Elijah pulled himself off the floor into a sitting position, leaning his head over the toilet bowl and gulping stickily as his stomach squeezed. Micah kept a hand on his back, rubbing softly, as they both waited for the inevitable, but then frowned fiercely. Elijah just kept swallowing, stiffening and twitching every so often.  
“You fuckwit, stop _fighting_ it, already. Just get it out.”

A very loud knocking sound abruptly echoed off the front door of the apartment, and they both froze. Micah stumbled to his feet to peek out of the bathroom, and behind him, he heard Elijah hiss, “ _Stars above_ ,” then throw up. Torn, Micah darted back towards him, then the knock at the door came again and he turned on his heel, rushing for the entrance.

“Micah, do _not_ open the door, they could be dangerous!” Elijah called from behind, before vomiting again, groaning quietly, and Micah guiltily ignored him. 

The door was unlocked, as Elijah hadn’t been able to get up and relock it after dragging himself inside, so whoever it was had to be polite enough to knock before even trying the knob. Micah opened the door by a crack, peering out, then his jaw dropped in astonishment.

“ _Sasha?_ ”

Without waiting for her boyfriend to gather his wits and actually let her in, Sasha pushed open the door the rest of the way, dashed inside, then shut it behind her, fiddling for a moment with the various locks that Elijah had installed, managing to fasten at least one or two. She was gasping a little, breathless, then as soon as she turned around, Micah threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. She sighed.  
  
“Sasha, what are you _doing_ here? There’s gangs around here!”  
“Oh, I know. I’m pretty sure some lowlife has been stalking me for the last block and a half.” She rolled her eyes, returning Micah’s embrace nonetheless, holding him warmly. “I’ve been following Elijah. He’s here, isn’t he?”  
“What? What do you mean you’ve been following him?”

Sasha pulled back to look Micah in the eyes, and he was a little surprised by the seriousness he saw in her face. “Micah… Elijah just saved our lives.”  
“Who? What?”  
“Me and Jake. He didn’t tell you?”  
“Well, he’s been kinda busy-“

They both turned their heads when the sound of someone throwing up floated out from the bathroom again, and Micah grimaced.  
“Doing that.”  
“Elijah?” Sasha called and started to head in his direction, stopping when Micah quickly held up his hands.  
“Sasha, wait, he’s really sick right now, and-“  
“I really don’t care.” She told him dryly, gently pushing him aside and ducking through the open doorway of the bathroom. Micah followed with a sigh.

Sasha froze when she saw him, sweating, heaving over the toilet with bloodshot eyes, a terrifying wound on his bare torso that looked crusted with some kind of dried medicine. He glanced up to her warily, coughing as golden dust fell from his lips, and gave a stuttered sigh.  
“I did not realize you were with your brother. I also did not realize he saw me before I left.”

“I was… kinda asleep in the backseat.” She said slowly, struggling to take in the image in front of her. She moved aside when Micah edged past, kneeling beside the older boy on the tiles and reaching out to rub his back soothingly. She took a deep breath. “I know it’s not the best time, but could you _please_ explain to me what is going on?”

Elijah swallowed, and Micah’s hands reached around his front, smoothing comfortingly over his belly. “Rousseth. Normally, consequences this drastic wouldn’t come of the whims of a narcissistic youth, but his father has just recently risen highly in the political spheres, and probably wanted an excuse to exercise his newfound power. I have reason to believe that their family more or less sponsored a staged gang attack against your brother, in retaliation for the confrontation with their son last night.”

Sasha struggled to process that, her thoughts whirling. “And you? What happened to make you this sick in the last hour?”  
“The blade-“ Elijah gestured to the wound on his side. “I was wounded with a poisoned blade. I was concerned it was something very serious, although now I think it was simply formulated to mimic serious symptoms. Because I was unsure of the actual poison however, I took a panacea to remove all doubt.”

“Goddesses, Elijah.” Sasha gasped, wings fluttering in shock, her brow drawing as Elijah leaned forward to cough up another mouthful of golden fluid that quickly dissipated into the air. “All that magic… that’s probably making you just as sick as the poison is!”  
“I am aware.” Elijah groaned, swallowing hard. “But the poison has been neutralized and I am no longer in danger.”  
“Why didn’t you just go to the hospital?”  
“Can’t.”  
“What do you _mean_ , you can’t?”

“Okay, everybody shut up.” Micah growled suddenly, and the other two looked at him in astonishment. “El, you’ve already thrown up everything solid in your stomach. You’re just spitting up magic now, can’t we like, move you somewhere more comfortable? It doesn’t look like you’re gonna have to worry about making a mess or anything… it just keeps floating away.”

Snapping back to reality, Sasha quickly came to their sides, ignoring the way Elijah instinctively flinched away from her sudden movements. “Yeah, you’re right, Micah. Come on, big guy, get up. Let’s put you in bed or something.”

Shuddering, Elijah struggled to his feet after he reached up and flushed the toilet, trying not to lean too heavily on either of his smaller friends, and they worked together to drag him back towards the bedroom. He collapsed as soon as he reached the mattress, and Micah crawled up onto the bed with him, tugging at his best friend’s knee to pull his leg from the edge, to reduce the risk of him falling back onto the floor.

Sasha dashed back out to the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets until she found the cups. She filled one with water, noticing the open medical and magic kits still on the floor, and debated for a moment, before snatching up a bottle of anti-nausea pills. She read the label, then gritted her teeth. Out of date… but the bottle felt full. She took off the lid and the safety seal was still intact. Why would Elijah have medicine on hand if he didn’t use it?

With a sigh, she dropped the bottle back in the case, looking through the cabinets again until she found a large plastic bowl, and took both it and the glass of water back into the bedroom. Elijah was laying limply across the pillows and Micah was rubbing his belly softly, his brow drawn in worry as he watched his best friend twitch and moan quietly every few minutes.

She handed her boyfriend the bowl to keep near Elijah’s head, set the glass of water on the nightstand, then pulled out her phone.  
“Wait, Sasha, what are you doing?” Micah yelped, reaching out towards her, and she paused, startled.  
“I’m calling the police. If Rousseth really staged that attack, they’ve got to get people on the case to track him down and expose him.”

“Sasha…”

Elijah’s voice was soft, and broken, and he reached out a hand for her. With a slow-creeping sense of dread, Sasha put the phone down and went to him, catching her breath when he wrapped her in a loose hug and then placed his fingertips gently at her cheek. She got the sudden, powerful impression that the boy lying in the bed beside her would step between her and bullet, if ever a gun were raised against her.

“Sasha… the world is not what you think it is. This city is corrupt down to it’s core, and nothing connected to the government is ever truly ‘safe.’ The country is run by politicians and criminals who more or less bought their way into office… everything has a price tag. There is profit to be had in gangs, in drugs, and in slavery. Much of the prejudice against your people, and felikens, and saurolins, and all the rest, is basically government _sponsored_. You cannot trust _anyone_ outside of those you hold close to you.”

“That’s impossible.” Sasha pleaded, looking up to Micah, whose eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. “No one could run a city this big and news never get out about what was really going on. There’d be a war!”

“There _is_ a war, Sasha.” Elijah whispered, then suddenly his body convulsed and he let go of her, grabbed at the bowl, coughing and gagging up a stream of golden fluid that evaporated as a glittery dust into the air. Gasping for breath, he fell back against the pillows, and Micah reached over, gently pulling the tie from his best friend’s hair and combing the sweaty strands back from his face. 

When Elijah could breathe again, he continued. “There _is_ a war. There are entire communities of illicit activity in the city that operate entirely under the public radar, buying and trading favors, trying to combat the corruption and offer what little protection can be had. You didn’t see them because they kept their distance, but I had volunteers with me down on the streets this morning, just in case it came to a point where I was overpowered and needed backup. If they ever need backup for protection of their own loved ones, then I will be available at their call as well.”

“Is that what the gangs really are?” Sasha asked bewilderedly. “Packs of… vigilantes?”  
“ _No_. And you should not mistake them as such. The gangs are dangerous, and there is plenty of ill intent to go around at the street level. But to some degree, the gangs do provide me with the resources to be able to make connections that would not be possible anywhere else. That is why I cannot go to a hospital. If I were to be identified as a member of the resisting force by any person in a position of power… I would likely never been seen again once entering any kind of medical institution.”

Sasha looked over in shock as Micah began to cry, wrapping his arms around Elijah who hugged him back, gently. “You never told me _that_ was the reason!”  
“I didn’t want to frighten you…” Elijah whispered softly, closing his eyes.

Sasha rubbed a hand over her face, trying to push back the guilt creeping over her from the night before. She didn’t know. She didn’t _know_. “Well, why can’t _you_ tell people what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell _me?_ Last night, I-“

“Sasha, you didn’t know. Please do not blame yourself. I cannot just go and spread the news like wildfire because there is an inherent risk to anyone who learns the truth. Speaking out publicly will likely result in attempts to silence you by targeting either you or your loved ones. To tell someone the truth is to immediately expose them to a reality so opposite of their experience that it puts their very life in danger.”

Elijah paused to throw up another shining mist, and he moaned with a soft sort of agony that pulled at Sasha’s heartstrings enough that she was reaching out for him herself, her hand coming to rest on the older boy’s shoulder as Micah kept stroking his belly softly, tears in his eyes.

Elijah’s eyes rose to meet hers again after a few minutes, and there was pain and illness there, and a deep sorrow. “I am so sorry… about last night… I never wanted to hurt you, but I felt that exposing you to the truth was a leap I could not make on my own… and it wasn’t as if you could directly consent to being drawn into the dangerous side of truth. It’s such a difficult line to cross…”

Sasha laughed bitterly. “I slap you and you’re the one who apologizes to _me?_ ”  
“Yes.”  
“You _what?_ ” Micah squawked and Elijah patted his hand softly. “You didn’t tell me— babe, you _hit_ him?”  
“She was drunk.” Elijah said, at the same time Sasha protested, “I was drunk.”

The three of them stopped, all exchanging mildly wary glances, then Sasha and Micah melted into distressed laughter and Elijah smiled softly.

“Damn, Elijah.” Sasha sighed, gingerly sitting down at the edge of the bed and looking him over. “You sound like you’ve been at this for a hundred years. Where did you learn all this stuff?”  
A sadness flitted across Elijah’s eyes, deep enough that it pulled her up short, before he murmured softly. “I’m not that old…”

A moment ticked by in silence as Sasha and Micah traded a worried look, then Elijah shifted, sweat on his forehead, that sadness growing in his eyes.  
“Twenty-one isn’t that old… and isn’t it- they call us college kids anyways, don’t they?” Elijah’s lower jaw trembled slightly, and that’s when Sasha realized the heat in his skin wasn’t just from the strain of throwing up. He was fevered, and creeping towards delirium, by the looks of it. “We’re still just kids… there’s time. We’ve got time…”

Micah wiped tears away from his face as he combed fingers through Elijah’s hair again. The older boy looked up at him and whispered hopefully, “I’m not… I don’t have to be… all the way grown up yet…”  
“Fuck, El, you’re kinda losing it on us…” Micah blinked away more tears, leaning over and kissing his best friend’s forehead. He slid his hand underneath Elijah’s face, holding him gently, and the moment of conflict Sasha saw in Elijah’s eyes tightened her lips. Then he sighed in surrender and tucked his cheek further into Micah’s palm, going limp, shuddering as he sank into sleep.

“He’s not gonna sleep for long.” Sasha told Micah softly. Elijah’s belly was gurgling ominously and it was obvious he hadn’t rid himself of all the magic in his system. There were still flickers in his skin. “We should try to, I dunno, bring his fever down. Get some ice, maybe wrap it up in some cloths… When he stops throwing up, he’ll need to drink something.”

“Did you really hit him?” Micah asked, sliding off the other side of the bed and coming around to give her a hug. She sighed softly.  
“Yeah… I did. I’m really sorry… I don’t think I would have done something like that if I was sober, but I got so angry. I got this twisted idea in my mind that he was taking Rousseth’s side.”  
“He was just trying to protect you.” Micah whispered into her hair. “He gets really scared about this kind of stuff…”  
“For good reason, obviously.” Sasha took a deep breath. “How did he _know_ , though? How could he have guessed that we’d actually be _attacked?_ ”

She felt Micah stiffen, then he drew her out to arms-length, and the look in his eyes took her breath away.  
“His sister… they killed his sister. When he was 17. He tried to… tell people the truth. And they murdered his little sister for it…”

Sasha turned her head, looking down at Elijah in horror, at his sweat-soaked face, the tremors in his skin. His face was gray and drawn, his sleep was restless with pain and sickness.

_You absolute traitor!! Where the fuck did this kind of cowardice come from, Elijah?  
_ _They murdered his little sister…_

_…_ **_you_ ** _, of all people…_

_—_

Thirty minutes later, Sasha had pulled in a chair from the other room, so she could sit beside the bed, with Micah up on the mattress next to Elijah. They’d dug around in the linens closet until they had an armful of small towels and washcloths, several of which they wrapped up with ice from the freezer and packed over his shoulders and head. He was shivering violently now, swallowing every so often, and it was pretty obvious he’d have to wake up any moment now to throw up again.

Micah petted Elijah’s hair softly, wanting to rub his tummy for him but not wanting to wake him up sooner than necessary. He was helpless to really _do_ anything else right now… he was glad Sasha was there. She always seemed to have good ideas in a crisis.  
He looked over to her now, noting the pinched look on her face as she stared down at her phone. “You okay?”

She looked up, a dry half-smile quirking her lips. “Sure. Just had a vast ocean of conspiracy busted wide open on me. Doing just peachy.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’ll get used to it, I’m sure. My world’s just been kinda rocked, you know?”

“Yep.” Micah agreed, remembering when he first found out. He flinched a little when Elijah’s belly gurgled loudly, almost angrily. “Geez. I feel like I just got barked at.” Trying not to wake him, Micah placed a hand gently over his best friend’s middle, patting soothingly. “Nice tummy. Easy, boy.”

Sasha laughed softly and Micah smiled, glad to her her voice lighten.   
“Does that really help?” She wondered with a smile and Micah thought about it.  
“Well… it helps when your stomach really hurts to have someone rub it. I know he’s probably more nauseous, but you know how cuddly he can be. He says it makes him feel better, at least.”  
Sasha pursed her lips and cocked her head. “Hey Micah… where’s the rest of his family? He and his sister weren’t like… orphans or anything, were they?”

Micah sighed deeply, adjusting one of the ice packs. “No, his parents are still alive. He really won’t talk about them though. He tells me they’re estranged from each other, but I dunno, the way he says it just gives me this awful feeling that something really bad happened, and that’s why they separated.”

His girlfriend mulled that over for a little while, her gaze dropping down to her phone again. “What in the world is he doing in _college?_ If he’s fighting this super secret war and his family is gone, and he can’t trust anyone in society, then what use could he possibly have for a degree?”

Micah froze in shock, his jaw hanging slightly. “Holy shit. I have no idea. I never even thought about that before!”  
“Do you think if you asked him about it, he’d tell you?”  
“Definitely.” Micah gave Sasha a firm look and she smiled in amusement at the sight of it. “Elijah doesn’t try to dodge questions like that, I promise. He doesn’t just run his mouth about this stuff, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked him a question that he hasn’t at least tried to answer.” His friend’s stomach rumbled warningly again and Micah frowned in sympathy, rubbing softly at his waist as he hiccuped faintly. “I think he’s waking up.”

Elijah’s eyes fluttered open a few moments later. He blinked miserably once or twice, then grabbed at the plastic bowl on the bed, convulsing and violently throwing up a wave of magic before he even got the edge of it under his chin. The viscous, golden fluid dripped off his lips and flooded the sheets before dissipating, not even leaving a residue.

“Do you think that was the last of it?” Micah asked Elijah worriedly, rubbing back and forth over his friend’s sickly belly, pressing a soothing pattern over the cramping muscles as best he could. Elijah took a pained breath.  
“No, but I will try to let you know when it’s gone.”  
“Are you sure you’ll be able to tell?”  
“Yes. I am seeing everything with a gold outline. That should clear up when there is no excess magic left.”

“You poor bastard… Micah rubbed Elijah’s back as his friend shifted uncomfortably. Hesitating, Elijah slowly reached out and took his hand, squeezing softly, before looking over at Sasha.  
“Isn’t your family wondering where you are?”

Sasha shook her head and stood, coming over to the bed. “Nah, Jake gave them a much tamer version of the truth, on the condition that I spill whatever I found out after I followed you.”

“You will have to decide for yourself how much of the truth is worth telling him.” Elijah said softly, and Sasha nodded. Then the older boy coughed a little, looking confused. “How _did_ you follow me? I had quite a lead on you and I didn’t see you at all on the way back…”

The girl grinned and gave him a look. “Avesians aren’t Leidoa’s legacy race for nothing, big guy.”  
“Fuck yeah!” Micah crowed, tossing his hands in the air in excitement. “The third sight! I didn’t know you’d learned how to use that, yet!”

“I actually _just_ got my first lessons like three weeks ago. That’s why I was so far behind, really. I kept losing the trail. I went off track completely until I saw the steps you left just before you got up to your door.”

Elijah gave a pained smile, pushing away one of the ice packs slightly as he pulled the bowl under his chin again and coughed up a little more magic, barely a breath of it this time. The other two sobered, and Micah crawled over on the bed until he was laying down beside Elijah, wrapping his arms around him from behind and rubbing his palms over his stomach comfortingly.  
“Goddesses, El… your tummy feels like it’s in knots…”

Elijah blinked slowly. “I will be alright. Sasha, I told Micah this earlier, but I may display somewhat concerning symptoms before this is over. But I can promise you that I am not in danger. I do not wish for you to be frightened by-“

“Okay, you need to kind of shut your mouth and just relax for a hot minute.” Sasha rolled her eyes and sat on the bed again. “Elijah, you’re sick. You’ve got it bad. You have to stop worrying about me and Micah, we’re not the sick ones. We’re gonna be fine. You can just kind of wallow for a bit, okay?”

Elijah shivered, his eyes glassy. His stomach seized against Micah’s hands and then he coughed a gold spray into the air. “But I… I have to be…”  
“What?”

Elijah groaned deeply and convulsed, and this time, it wasn’t magic that spilled from his lips, it was a scary, bloody foam, and then his eyes rolled back in his head.

Micah practically screamed at the sight and Sasha grabbed a washcloth, running to the side of the bed and tucking it under Elijah’s chin as he coughed, heaving for a breath. Then he finished his sentence in a broken whisper. “…strong.”

A sense of slow-settling horror crept over the room. Elijah took a few deep breaths, then moved his hands, clasping Micah’s fingers around his waist and stroking his best friend’s knuckles gently, trying to comfort him. Always putting himself last.

“I will be alright.” Elijah told both of them softly, sounding a hundred years old again, and Micah looked over at Sasha with tear-filled eyes. Scowling, the girl leaned over to meet Elijah’s gaze.

“Okay, mister ‘I’m not a grown up yet,’ how do you _feel?_ And don’t give me any bullshit. I don’t want to hear from big, responsible-friend Elijah, or saving-the-world-with-my-gang Elijah. I want to hear from still-just-a-college-kid Elijah. How do you feel right now?”

Micah looked over to Elijah’s face and stilled at what he saw there, his heart clenching. Someone unbearably _young_ looked up through blue eyes at Sasha, soft and scared and hurting, then Elijah closed the windows to his soul and sank back against the pillow, breathing out slowly.  
“Not very good…” He whimpered, so low he could barely be understood.   
“And what hurts?”  
“…My stomach… and my head…”

Micah shut his eyes, pressing his cheek to Elijah’s back as he hugged him, careful not to squeeze his aching tummy too hard. He stroked his hands over his friend’s abdominal muscles, as warmly and comfortingly as he could. He felt Elijah sigh with just the tiniest hint of relief.

“You probably can’t keep anything down that would help with the headache…” Sasha said quietly, musing aloud. She reached over and took the ice packs away from Elijah’s face and neck, feeling his forehead gently. “I think your fever’s come down. I’m guessing we’ll just have to wait things out.”

Elijah stiffened just before he coughed, spitting out another mouthful of gold, then nodded slowly. 

For the next couple of hours, Elijah slept on and off, while Sasha hovered nearby and Micah cuddled with him, rubbing his tummy when he was awake and holding him carefully when he was asleep. He stopped coughing up bits of magic after a time, but then would just seize with near-convulsive fits. Once he stopped throwing up, the other two did their best to coax little sips of water down his throat, and Micah told Sasha where the chamomile was, so she could make a mug of tea and bring that to Elijah as well. He looked encouragingly comforted as soon as he smelled the aroma, eagerly sipping down a few swallows of it on his own as he lifted his head.

Suddenly, just as he woke from one of his dozing spells, Elijah’s eyes flashed with a golden light and he gasped, a cloud of magic wafting from his lips and his body shaking with a violent shudder. He panted for a breath after the light faded, rolling over and wrapping Micah into a hug, who squeaked in surprise, then felt an enormous wave of tenderness and love for his best friend when he buried his face in the crook of Micah’s neck, like he was hiding there, somewhere he felt safe.

“Is it over?” Sasha said hopefully, coming over to the bed once again, and Micah nodded so she could see when Elijah hummed in affirmation.  
“Well, thank goodness.” Sasha hopped up slightly to sit on the bed, reaching over to pat Elijah’s back affectionately. “Are you feeling any better, big guy?”

Elijah made another sound and Micah giggled. “I think he just wants to go back to sleep. He’s already on his way out, babe.”  
“You two are so damn cute.” Sasha growled and Micah beamed at her. She lowered her voice. “Hey… do you think it’d be okay with him if I stayed here overnight?”

Micah opened his mouth to answer but then Elijah roused; big, responsible-friend Elijah rising to the surface. “Yes, of course, Sasha. It is probably for the best anyways, as I am not in the best of shape to escort you out of the territory, and it would be extremely dangerous for you to try to leave on your own.” He lifted his head slightly, but Micah pulled him back down, snugged into his shoulder, and Elijah gave in rather more easily than he would have expected. “There are sandwich ingredients in the refrigerator if you are hungry, and plenty of blankets and pillows in the closet that you can make up a bed with on the couch.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty late in the afternoon. Thanks, El. Micah, you want a sandwich?” Sasha asked as she slid off the bed onto the floor.   
“Yes please! He’s got some canned cream soup in the cabinet, could you heat him up a mug of it?”  
“No…” Elijah practically whined, and Micah stroked his hair soothingly.  
“Yeah, you gotta eat something, fuckface. You can go back to sleep right after, promise.”

Sasha gave them a thumbs-up, then walked out into the kitchen, digging around a little to find everything before setting to work. She came back with plates of sandwiches for her and Micah, and a mug of soup for Elijah, warm but not too hot, that they coaxed down his throat with soft words and gentle touches.

Finally, he curled up and slept again, resting deeply for the first time all day. Micah got off the bed and sat with Sasha on the floor, eating lunch together and whispering back and forth quietly, so they wouldn’t disturb Elijah’s rest.

A lot had changed in one day. Sasha knew the truth, but both of them couldn’t ignore the dreadful realization that just because Elijah had stopped one attack, it didn’t mean there couldn’t be more.

He probably had a plan, he always did, but they both agreed it could wait until morning.  
Until then, he just needed to sleep. And that night, after Sasha was safely tucked into the couch, Micah crawled back into the bed with his best friend, putting his arms around him and hugging him closely.

It felt so good, just to hold him.


	11. When The Moon Hits Your Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friend group watches a special lunar event while Micah gets his tummy soothed from too much greasy food. (Aka the one in which Elijah knows Micah better than he knows himself.)

Micah opened his phone to look at the time again, and as per usual, it refused to move faster despite his intensive checking.   
“How much longer are you guys gonna be at this?” He groaned, hanging his head over the armrest of the couch, giving Jordan and Cole an impatient look.

“The Convene only happens once every thirty-two years, Micah. If we don’t have everything set up ahead of time, it’s going to be a nightmare trying to make adjustments at the last minute.” Jordan informed him primly as Cole snickered.

“It’ll be like, ten more minutes bucko.” Cole assured Micah with a grin as he turned another dial on the telescope and adjusted the overhead viewing window with a pull rope.  
“We’ve been up here for like two hours and I’m about to starve.” Micah complained as his stomach growled irritably.  
“Geez, you sure do get cranky when you’re hungry.”  
“Oops. Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

The small back room in the top of the physics department’s astronomy tower had long ago been converted into a cozy little viewing room, crowded with soft chairs, a sofa, and a number of bean bag chairs. A plush rug was spread on the floor, and a large window looked up to the night sky, framed by adjustable wooden panels. An old telescope stood at the far end of the room, lens turned to the stars, and celestial charts covered the small table in the corner.

The main viewing room, with its state-of-the-art technology and auditorium seating, had been reserved for the school’s huge astronomy club months ago for tonight, but Jordan’s mother, a professor in the department, had stealthily informed her child and their friends that this snug little place was just as good for moon-watching and was far more comfortable for a small group anyways. Around 2am, Ukerra’s three moons would all be visible together in the night sky, and Cole, Jordan, Macy, Micah, and Sasha would be tucking themselves in with blankets and popcorn to watch the event. They’d even planned a sleepover, all giggles and excitement about spending the night on campus.

Micah had asked the others if Elijah could join them, and all had readily agreed, but he hadn’t seen or heard from his friend in two days. It wasn’t terribly unusual, but Micah missed him, and his hopes for spending a beautiful night sandwiched between his girlfriend and his best friend were all but extinguished at this point.

Macy and Sasha were waiting for them down at the campus’ little townsquare, window shopping under the eaves to shelter from the light blanket of flurries that was falling. It was going to be a cold evening, but they had plans to finish setting up here and go out to get burgers with the girls, before making their way back as a group and curling up for the night. 

“Okay, we’re done!” Cole announced, lifting his head from where he’d been peering through the telescope and hopping over to grab his coat from the hooks by the door. “Jordan, did you text the girls?”  
“Yep!” His partner informed him with a smile, giving Micah a friendly shove towards the door. “Okay, get moving, you’re not the only one who’s hungry!”

Outside, the winter air was frigid, turning their noses red and their fingers stiff within minutes as they waited by the curb for the bus. Cole jogged in place, keeping the blood pumping to stay warm while Jordan elbowed him every so often, muttering about watching the ice on the sidewalk. Finally the bus pulled up and they piled on, tucking themselves in a row of three near the back, away from the cold influx of air by the doors.

Once they disembarked, the lights and sounds and bustle of the city distracted from the chilly night, and Cole cheerily linked arms with Jordan and Micah, charging down the sidewalk with both of them in tow, laughing all the way. Macy and Sasha recognized their signature commotion from the other side of the block and waved them down, helping Jordan shove the boys through the door of the local burgers-and-fries joint. 

It was warm inside, and filled with appetizing smells, and the group hurried to step into the line at the counter. Micah grinned and took Sasha’s hand, squeezing affectionately before leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek, and she giggled, looking beautiful with snow melting in the ringlets of her hair. He shook his head and held tighter when she tried to reach into her pocket for her Ren chip.

“Let me get it this time, babe.”  
“Are you sure?” Her gaze flickered up and he sighed, always regretting the fact that he usually had so little extra to spend on her.   
“I’m positive.” He said it so firmly that she laughed, standing on her toes to kiss him right in front of the cashier, who looked away politely. 

They got their food and joined the others at a round corner booth, sliding around in a circle until they were all crowded into the one bench, laughing and talking about their plans for the night. Sasha and Macy had their overnight bags with them and they set them at the end of the table. Most of the patrons in the restaurant in fact, were wearing tshirts and silly hats with various moon decorations and prints. The entire country was counting down the minutes until the Convene and it filled the atmosphere with an unusual sense of companionship and community.

Micah tried to push away the lingering sense of loneliness that could only be filled by Elijah’s broad frame, and focused on the warm food and the conversation around him.

Cole was making jokes about cheese and Jordan was meticulously outlining all the different phenomena that the media said would occur worldwide during the event. Macy interjected every so often with how the physical facets corresponded to mystical properties and Sasha was pointing out how they’d have to think of something to do while they waited for 2am, because it was barely seven in the evening. Jordan mentioned some movie disks and a player stashed in the lookout room and Cole asked if any of them were about cheese, prompting a ring of laughter around the table.

The food was good too, really good; with two meat patties that always came thicker on mom and pop burgers than from chains, layered with fresh tomato and lettuce. Bottles of ketchup had been provided on the table, and Micah lifted the rounded top bun of his burger to add a generous dollop of the condiment after he’d taken a couple of bites. The bread was chewy and lightly toasted and soaked up the greasy taste from the grilled patties. Then he had a generous portion of salted fries, crispy on the outside and soft and starchy on the insides. He squeezed out some more ketchup in a little plastic cup so he could dip his fries, mouth watering at the hot, fried potato topped with the cool, lightly sweet sauce.

They’d gotten milkshakes as well, but Micah opted to save his for dessert and sipped at a cup of soda throughout the meal to quench his thirst. It was the perfect complement to the hot food, tickling at his throat with bubbly carbonation but cold and sweet and hard not to guzzle down too fast as he laughed and talked with the others. He tossed away his wrapper and empty cup, pulling his strawberry milkshake over and sipping at the straw, when suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket and he glanced down, swallowing the cold, creamy mouthful quickly, and reaching for the device.

(( _I apologize for being out of contact for so long. If it is not too late to join you and the others, I should be able to make it tonight._ ))

It took a few seconds, and couple re-reads of the text, for the words to finally click.

“He’s coming.” Micah whispered softly, a huge smile spreading over his face and his eyes lighting up as he lifted his head, holding the phone a little higher. “Guys, he’s coming! Elijah’s coming to the lookout room tonight!”  
“Hey, that’s awesome!” Sasha cheered with a ruffle of her boyfriend’s hair, and the other three at the table grinned encouragingly.

“Does he know where to go?” Jordan inquired, pulling out their phone. “I can send you the room number and key code to get in the building after-hours, and you can send it to him!”  
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks!” Micah agreed, quickly tapping out a reply to Elijah.

(( _Nope, never too late! I’m gonna forward you a text from Jordan with what room to go to. We’re spending the night on campus, can you stay the whole time?_ ))

(( _Yes, I will stay as long as you do. Do you need me to bring anything?_ ))

(( _Nah, just maybe make sure you’re wearing something comfy enough to sleep in. We already stashed a bunch of blankets and pillows up there!_ ))

Micah forwarded Jordan’s text and sat back happily, drinking at his milkshake and reaching over to hold Sasha’s hand again. She laughed and kissed his cheek. “Well, you certainly cheered up at that!”  
“He’s the best for sleepovers, he’s so warm and cuddly.”  
“Yeah, for you, maybe!” Cole laughed, then laughed harder at Sasha’s deadpan response.  
“Cole, if you think that boy wouldn’t cuddle _anyone_ who even so much as lifted their arms towards him, you clearly haven’t spent enough time around him.”

They finished up their meal and got up to throw their trash away, grabbing Sasha’s and Macy’s bags and heading outside to the bus stop. As he stood up, Micah suddenly had to catch his breath a little as a low, rumbly sound squeezed through his belly. He winced a little and put one hand over the front of his hoodie, his coat open and unbuttoned over his torso.

“You okay, baby?” Sasha asked quietly, noticing the movement with a hint of familiarity in her eyes. Micah nodded quickly and pocketed his hand again.  
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just- ooh…” He grimaced, hand fluttering back to press over his middle. “Well, okay, maybe not. But it’s not… that bad.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Not enough to ruin the night.”  
“You poor thing.” His girlfriend laughed sympathetically, patting his back, jolting loose an airy burp that he barely managed to cover in time. “Your tummy is just always giving you trouble, it seems. Oh, that didn’t sound good.”

Micah’s stomach had just let out a loud gurgle and he rubbed at it urgently, looking pained. “I’ll be fine, really. Just needs to settle, I think.”

Hiding her smirk, Sasha pressed a little closer to his side as she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Elijah.

(( _Your best friend is just realizing that his dinner might not be agreeing with him_.))

It took a few seconds, but when the reply came, she had to stop herself from laughing aloud. She hadn’t realized Elijah even knew how to _use_ text to make faces.

(( _:(_ ))  
Then, one second later, (( _I will take care of him as soon as I get there. It will not be long_.))

Sasha slid her phone back in her pocket and squeezed Micah’s hand, averting her gaze from the other, rubbing small circles over the slight bulge of his own middle while he tried to hide a grimace. He’d put on a brave face for her, but as soon as Elijah showed up, she knew he’d turn on that puppy-dog face and practically beg to be comforted and held. She tried to suppress the amusement bubbling up inside at the mental image that painted in her mind’s eye, but a faint flicker of a smile snuck onto her lips, despite herself.

-

By the time they got back to the physics building, Micah was openly clutching at his stomach with pain, still trying to keep a grin on his face and making the occasional self-deprecating joke, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. The group kept shooting him amused, pitying glances and the sharp cramping and loud rumbles did not seem like they’d be leaving him in peace any time soon.

He made a stop by the bathroom on their way down the hallway, waving the others on and assuring them he’d be fine, but it was embarrassingly long before he made it back to the lookout room, feeling a little better but still pretty horrid. When he stepped through the door though and looked up as he closed it behind him, relief washed over him and he smiled, even giving a little laugh.

“Hey, El. No, sit back down, I’m not gonna stand around.” He groaned, almost falling onto his best friend’s lap when he reseated himself on the couch. The others all chuckled and even he had to admit, it was funny.

“Micah…”  
There was so much love and fondness and sympathy in just that one word, as Elijah’s arms rose to curl around him and hold him close, tucked against his chest. His best friend smiled softly, instinctually, in response to Micah’s own pained grin, his hand lifting and pressing down over his aching tummy, rubbing deep, soothing circles and chasing away the cramps. Micah arched into the touch with a faint groan as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside.  
“I missed you.” Micah told him with another smile, closing his eyes when Elijah nestled his chin down over his curls and kissed his forehead gently.  
“I missed you too.”

“Okay, so while the sap fest over there gets comfy-“ Macy announced, prompting loud laughter from around the room, even from Micah, “-are y’all in the mood for horror, romance, or action-adventure?”  
She held up a stack of movie disks as she set the video player down on the table, fiddling for a moment to get the connection established with the viewing screen.

Sasha sat down beside the boys on the sofa, reaching down and pulling Micah’s feet up into her lap, squeezing his ankle affectionately and getting a delighted giggle. “Just put on something generic! Something easy to watch so we don’t get too distracted before the actual event.”  
“Sounds good to me.” Macy agreed with a shrug, cracking open the brightest-colored case and popping the disk into the player with a flourish. “Anyone want popcorn?”  
“Not this one.” Jordan smirked good-naturedly, poking Micah’s forehead and laughing when Elijah was the one to bat their hand away. “We just got back from supper though, let’s hold off on the popcorn til a little later, yeah?”

Micah moaned quietly when Elijah’s hand massaged gently over a burbly spot in his tummy, shifting a little and lowering his voice as Cole started the others off on a discussion about whether kettle-corn or triple-buttered was the best popcorn option.

“I really don’t feel very good.” He said softly with a hiccup and Elijah’s expression turned almost sad, his warm palm stroking even more soothingly over Micah’s bloated tummy, his other hand raising to comb through his hair comfortingly.  
“Where did the group go to eat?” Elijah turned his head, whispering to Sasha, and she tickled Micah’s ankle again, getting a squeak in return.  
“Kyle’s, down on the square. They’ve got really good cookout food.”  
“Oh.” Elijah frowned a little, pressing his fingertips rhythmically down the tense muscles of Micah’s side, working up a burp that tasted like soda on the back of his throat. “That explains it.”

Micah managed to pry one eye open after they’d fallen shut, peering at Elijah in confusion. “What?”  
A beat passed in absolute silence between them, then Elijah’s brow creased. “…What?”

They stared at each other for another long moment, both jumping a little when Sasha barked a laugh she couldn’t quite hold onto.

“Micah… greasy food always hurts your stomach.” Elijah finally managed to say, slowly and deliberately while he kept massaging his best friend’s tummy helpfully.  
“What? No it doesn’t.”  
The sideways look Elijah gave him now was almost comical. “…Yes, it does.”  
Micah frowned. “No it doesn’t.”

Elijah pressed down again, bringing up another belch that ended in a soft sigh. Micah groaned with relief when his stomach twisted with a sickly gurgle that Elijah quickly rubbed away.  
“How do you… not _know_ this?” The bewilderment in his best friend’s voice was impossible to ignore, and Micah scowled.  
“Because it doesn’t! As long as I don’t eat too fast… I’m usually fine.”

“No… you're not.” Elijah rolled his eyes slightly, stroking his thumb over the tender soreness just under Micah’s ribs. “Remember the time the chem lab group ordered pizza at the study hall? You had a stomachache all night after that… even though you ate quite slowly because you were participating in the review with the others. And at the fields, when they had a tailgate before the half-season game. They grilled hot dogs, and you were so absorbed in the score count that you only ate a couple over the course of an hour. Before long, you wanted to go home because your stomach hurt so much.”

Micah frowned even more and closed his eyes, leaning back, as he thought carefully. Elijah’s hand felt warm even through the soft fabric of his hoodie, smoothing over and over the swell of his bloated middle with a pattern and pressure that soothed and comforted him, but couldn’t quite erase the grumbling discontent of his insides.  
“…Micah?”  
“I’m thinking.”

He heard the brush of Elijah’s ponytail against the back of the couch as his best friend turned his head, whispering to Sasha again.  
“Might there be a small break room anywhere on this floor? Something like a staff lounge?”  
“Yeah, there’s one just down the hall.” Sasha’s voice murmured in reply. “How come?”  
“Would you be willing to go and check if they have herbal teas? If there is a coffee maker in the room, there are usually teas and coffee blends stored next to it.”  
“If they do, which one should I get?”  
“Ginger, preferably. Mint, lemon, or chamomile, in that order, if they don’t have ginger.”

Sasha gently deposited Micah’s feet on the floor again and got up, getting a set of keys from Jordan and disappearing quietly through the door with an encouraging smile. Micah opened his eyes slowly again, watching Elijah’s hand press and rub circles over his tummy, working up the occasional burp or hiccup that he didn’t really bother too much to try to stifle.

“Um. Now that I think about it…” He mumbled bashfully, hoping he wasn’t too red. “…I think you might be right.” He couldn’t remember ever having eaten something greasy like pizza, hamburgers, or hot dogs that didn’t end in a night of misery. 

Elijah, being Elijah, didn’t make any comment to drive the point home, just kept rubbing gently, but then Micah’s stomach gurgled unhappily and he winced, and his friend sighed in sympathy. 

“I am sorry you are feeling so badly.” He said softly, stroking Micah’s hair again, and the motion drew another smile from him, pained though it was. Elijah really _was_ helping though, and Micah turned his cheek further into his best friend’s chest as his smile grew. His tummy ached, but the pain was dulling under Elijah’s careful ministrations, and he felt so warm and loved. 

The handle of the door turned as Sasha reentered, returning the keys to Jordan and coming back over to the sofa with a mug of something pleasant and zesty.

“They did have ginger.” She smiled and Elijah’s eyes warmed as he looked up and thanked her, taking the mug and lifting Micah in one arm slightly, settling the cup in his hands.

Micah sipped at the tea and whimpered softly in relief; the warm liquid running down his throat and filling the achy places in his belly, which grumbled more pleasantly with the sensation of the ache easing up. Elijah’s hand made another circle over his full tummy, pressing in just the right places and finally, for the first time in more than an hour, Micah felt himself relaxing.

“Oh,” He said after he’d drained half the mug. “That’s better.” He smiled when Elijah’s other hand brushed over his shoulder affectionately, then twitched his leg when Sasha poked at his knee.

“Couldn’t have you all down with a tummy ache while the Convene is happening!” She declared with a grin, and Micah beamed when Elijah reached over to gather her in a one-armed hug in thanks.

Micah elected to take a nap for a couple of hours while Sasha joined the others for a game of cards. Elijah got up so Micah could stretch out more fully on the couch, then rubbed his tummy and lower back until Micah fell into a deep, blissful sleep. He was woken by the sounds of the others’ commotion, jolting into a sitting position and grinning drowsily at the sight of everyone bundled up in blankets in front of the telescope. He shook Elijah awake, who had fallen asleep with his head leaning back against the couch, and dragged his best friend over to watch the third moon rise.

“There, there! It’s right on the horizon!” Cole crowed in delight, pressing a button that cast the projection of the telescope’s view onto the far wall. Fernweh and Luftschloss, high in the sky and shining beautifully, reflecting the sun’s light, almost seemed to shrink before their eyes as the huge presence of Schadenfreude crept gradually up, over the city skyline and rose higher.

“Goddesses.” Jordan breathed, and the rest of the room nodded in solemn agreement. “They’re beautiful. All our moons… together like that. Wow. I could never have imagined…”

Micah could barely breathe, the sight was mesmerizing, then he happened to glance over at Elijah, just by chance, and suddenly felt as if he’d never breathe again. His best friend’s eyes, usually so drawn in vague distrust, or hesitancy, or darkened with grief, were wide, and shining as brightly as the moons, glimmering with awe and wonder.

-

When the moon set again, and the brilliance of the light dimmed, all was quiet, and reverent for a moment, then Cole burst into a delighted shriek of laughter, throwing his arms around Jordan and lifting them off the floor, and Micah caught Sasha’s face between his hands and kissed her, fingers tangling in her hair. A chill ran down his spine when the loud cheers of the astronomy club rose in a ruckus that floated through the walls of the physics building’s top floor.

Micah all but leapt into Elijah’s arms when he released Sasha, laughing in absolute abandon when the suddenness of the tackle surprised his best friend into rolling back into a mess of pillows, hugging him close nonetheless. Sasha gave Macy a huge hug, wings wrapping around the other girl, and then, Micah heard the most beautiful sound, as Elijah threw back his head and laughed, with total, overwhelming joy.

They all settled down to sleep not long after, and Micah buried himself in a nest of blankets and soft cushions, Elijah to one side and Sasha to the other. He held his girlfriend’s hand and kissed her goodnight, and fell asleep with Elijah’s fingers combing through his curls and tracing the soft places behind his ears.

The next morning was lazy, no one rousing fully until they all started to get hungry, then they quickly tidied up the room and packed their bags. Cole and Jordan were going off on their own for a date, but Macy agreed to head down to the small breakfast cafe with Micah, Elijah, and Sasha.

Before they parted, Cole had clearly decided to test Sasha’s claim, and with a salute to the others, he reached towards Elijah with a big grin, arms opened invitingly.

Micah got to experience the intense feeling of humor and adoration at the look of astonishment that crossed his best friend’s face, before he slowly, hesitantly, reached back, leaning down and wrapping the boy into a bear hug that (Micah would later swear) brought tears to Cole’s eyes.


	12. Shelter In The Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heida’s Peace approaches, it’s the end of the semester, and that means feasting and candles and warm hugs. Possibly also food comas and belly aches. Nothing some good cuddling can’t fix!

Brielle’s grave was small, child sized.

It rested away from the others, on a slight hill, under a willow. The frozen ground beneath his shoes was a little more bare of snow there, and the frost-edged twigs and leaves crackled underfoot. It was cold, so cold, that the mist of his breath froze into little crystals on his facial hair, and he kept raising his gloved hand to scrape them away.

He knelt, picking up the box with ceramic flowers that had rested there faithfully for the past four years. He only paused now to wipe the snow and dirt off of it, but when it grew warmer again he would come back with his tiny basket of paints and clumsily restore color to the petals. It seemed wrong, to replace it, when it was all he could afford to get with the meager savings the two of them had been tucking away for her prom dress. He had promised her that by the time her senior year rolled around, they’d surely have enough to get whatever she wanted, as long as they dropped a few coins in the jar every day, week by week, month after month…

“Heya, sis.” Elijah’s voice was gravelly from the cold wind, as he set the ceramic flowers back down by the headstone, reaching out with one hand, cradling the etched granite, the closest he’d ever get to touching her face again. The winter breeze blew, and he imagined a comb in his fingers, as he parted the tangled hair at the back of her neck, neglected by their mother’s hand for too long. He’d comb until the baby-soft strands were smooth and clean again, then wiggle a warm hat down onto her head, tuck a scarf around her shoulders as she squirmed and complained that he was tickling her.

_She’s gone. She’s gone._

“Miss you, Bri.” He murmured, brushing snow off of her head. “Always do. I’ll try to get in touch with mom and dad again, soon. Promise. They’re doing okay, though.” He pulled a few twigs and pine needles away from her collar. “Wasn’t too long ago that I checked in. You know I try to keep an eye on stuff.”

He got to his feet again, the creases in his coat following the movement of his body, blocking out the cold, sheltering from the wind. The price tag on this one article of clothing could have put food on their table for weeks. He could have even put something special in her lunch box, something that she could trade around the table in those little cafeteria games that kids always played. She never went hungry, he made sure of that, but she had never had anything really special like that, either. He tried to give her little notes, instead. She had told him once that the hearts he drew on them were too sappy and embarrassed her in front of her friends, so he started drawing misshapen cats and dogs, with stupidly big ears or crazy long tails, and those, by her report, were far more popular.

“Happy Heida’s, Bri.” Elijah whispered, closing his eyes. He hesitated, but he couldn’t leave before he sang for her, because heaven knew he’d never hear the end of it. She’d come clamoring into his bed in the middle of the night with her piano book and pick something out with scary high notes, then smack him with a pillow as he strained to hit them, just to spite him.

“ _When I’m alone,  
_ _Burdened down by the night,  
_ _I look to the heavens to see the starlight.  
_ _The morning is coming,  
_ _Driving far the damp rain,  
_ _And out from the shadows—  
_ _The song sparrow sang.  
_ _It whistled it’s pleasure,  
_ _It warbled it’s pain,  
_ _It told me the stories that keep the world sane_.”

He took a breath to begin the second verse when his phone lit up ringing in his pocket. He halted, startled, then fished it out, glancing at the number before quickly pressing a button and raising the device.

“Micah?”  
“Hey El, where are you? Thought you were gonna get here early to help us decorate?”

Elijah took the phone away from his face for a moment so he could swear without Micah hearing him as he checked his watch. With a heavy sigh, he placed the phone back at his ear.

“I’m sorry, Micah, I believe I lost track of time. I will not be able to make it to help decorate for the event, but I should still be there to meet you before it begins.”  
“Hey, it’s okay man.” Micah’s voice turned gentle, and despite the voice speaking cruelly to him in the back of his mind about letting his best friend down, Elijah felt comforted by his tone. “No worries. Don’t sound so devastated.” Micah paused to laugh. “It’s not a big deal, just wanted to check and see where you were. You okay?”

“Yes, of course, I am out on errands.” Elijah pulled the phone away for another brief moment, kissed three fingers, and touched his sister’s headstone, before walking towards the cemetery gate, feet crunching through the snow. “I will get there very soon, within a half hour, most likely.”  
“Sounds good. And relax, for real. Ladders made tall people obsolete like back in the third age, I’m pretty sure.”

Elijah’s eyes crinkled a bit as he smiled, the joke amusing him greatly, and he let it shine through in his answer, pleased by the laugh his best friend gave in response. “I take very high offense to that.”  
“Sure you do.”

-

Micah waited with Jordan just outside the main entry for the science department’s conference center, laughing and talking with them about the potluck planned for the end-of-the-semester’s Heida’s Peace celebration. It had been rough the past few weeks; finals to take and projects to turn in, and frankly, the entire student body had gotten very little sleep and had been subsisting off an alarming amount of junk food. The potluck was, in a way, a very generous gesture on the part of the staff and faculty to show a sense of mentorship to their students before the winter break.

Just a few days ago, Micah had been sitting in a nervous heap on the couch, maniacally refreshing the page on the student portal, where the grades would be uploaded at any moment. Elijah’s internet connection was slower than most, courtesy of a specially-made-and-programmed router, designed to encrypt signals and hide activity while still reaching the web. So with every reload of the page, Micah would practically hold his breath, until the blank box popped up once more and he clicked the swirling arrow, again and again.

If his grades weren’t high enough, he wouldn’t keep his scholarship. The one that had barely kept him off the streets after he turned 18. Full ride, housing included; he’d picked up a job and later an internship so he could pay for food and books, but everything else was taken care of. If he lost it, then…

“Goddesses, El.” He’d muttered in distress, dropping his forehead to the crook of his arm, wrapped tightly atop his knees. “What do I do if I lose it? What if I failed all my fucking finals and it all gets ruined?”  
“You did not fail your finals, Micah.” Elijah’s voice had been soft, reassuring, and he rubbed his back, ran his fingers through his hair. “You are very intelligent and you have worked very hard.”  
“Something else could ruin it.” Micah had whimpered. “I dunno, like, that group project in microbiology that everyone got C’s on. The standards are so damn high for this… anything could tank it. What if it gets ruined? What would I do?”

“Well,” Elijah had said, in a tone that was entirely unconcerned, but still endlessly warm and comforting, “Then I would take care of you.”

Micah could have cried right then, and almost did, almost turned to bury his face in his best friend’s chest to sob, but then the page had finished refreshing and his grades popped up. Four A’s. One B. Scholarship still safe and sound.

“Hey! Elijah!” Jordan raised a hand to wave and Micah turned his head to squint into the darkness and falling snow, lighting up with a grin when he saw his best friend approaching.

“Hey, you did make it pretty early!” Micah laughed, running the last few steps to greet him and throwing his arms around him. Elijah nimbly caught his weight and hugged him back tightly, with a strength that made Micah gasp a little, and Elijah chuckled, setting him back on his feet.

“Your entire face is frozen, asshole.” Micah complained, dusting ice out of his hair from where Elijah had rested his chin, then reached up and pressed his hands over his friend’s beard in a genuine attempt to help melt it, even if the gesture was a bit silly.  
“Micah Rory Greene.” Elijah intoned severely, his words slightly muffled behind Micah’s fingers. He looked down at him with a glare. “Where are your gloves?”  
“Forgot them.” Micah said brightly, giggling when Elijah rolled his eyes, pulled off his own gloves, and took Micah’s hands in his. He huffed a warm breath over his fingers, then rubbed them between his rough palms.  
“Why are you standing outside? Surely it would be more comfortable to wait in the lobby?”

“The professors technically kicked us out to finish setting up.” Jordan interjected. “We could have gone back in a while ago, and most students did, but we were watching the sunset and just kept standing around after it got dark.”  
“Well, come on then.” Elijah held Micah’s hand and made a gentle shooing motion at Jordan. “We should get inside. The temperature will only continue to drop.”

The inside of the building was warm and bright; bows tied at every convenient corner and golden wreaths hung above doorways. Customary candles were lit with magic so they wouldn’t snuff out or burn the wax down too low. The large, front auditorium had its seating folded up, and was filled with rows of tables instead, placed with every kind of food imaginable. Students lingered in the hallways and lobby, and teachers, professors, and other staff were placing more chairs against the walls and in clusters where there were empty places in the floorspace. 

The three of them stood around for another half-hour or so, talking about their plans for the winter break. Jordan was traveling overseas to the mainland to visit their extended family, but would return to Leidoa a week prior to when classes would start back again, to spend time with Cole. Micah was planning to spend the actual Day of Peace and New Year’s with Sasha and her family, then would stay with Elijah the rest of the holiday.

“I still don’t get why you can’t come over and hang out with us for the candlelight ceremony.” Micah pouted, kicking at a section of peeling carpet. Elijah petted his friend’s hair until he glanced back up at him.  
“I wish I could, you know I do. Many people have to work over the holiday though, Micah, it is not that unusual.”  
“Hey, yeah, my sister has to work that week too, but then she gets the following week off.” Jordan spoke up, giving Micah a friendly nudge. “You just have to rearrange schedules sometimes. I’m sure you two will still have a lot of fun.”

Feeling guilty now, mostly because of the deep sadness behind Elijah’s eyes that Micah hadn’t realized his thoughtless complaining would kindle, he quickly reached out and wrapped his best friend in a hug, smiling when he felt him sigh in relief.  
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I’m an ass. We can do our own candlelight ceremony.”  
Elijah’s eyes warmed as he smiled. “I think that would be very enjoyable.”

Micah opened his mouth to make a suggestion about how they could decorate the apartment in preparation, when Elijah’s stomach growled, loud enough to hear through his coat, and to surprise a laugh out of Micah, who of course was pressed close enough to hear it despite the many layers of clothing.

“Someone sounds hungry.” Jordan smirked and Micah could swear he saw Elijah blush a little, even though he stayed relatively composed.  
“It has been a rather long day.”  
“Well, I think they’re probably about ready to start.” Micah let go of his friend so he could turn around and eye the open doorway to the filled auditorium. “Yeah, look, there’s a few people already gathering, let’s get in line!”

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before they were moving along the tables, filling paper plates high with rich comfort foods and seeking out places to sit. Micah knew he probably looked a little ridiculous, precariously balancing two plates along with his cup of hot apple cider as they made their way over to a small ring of chairs in one corner, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. There was just _so much_ food that looked too good to pass up, and they’d be here a couple of hours at least, surely. He could take his time.

One plate he’d filled at least a quarter with spaghetti, baked in a ceramic dish with a thick, savory crust of melted cheese. He’d wedged a few green beans in the center, and some fresh spinach salad, dotted with dried cranberries next to that. A miniature chicken pot pie, wrapped in a thick dough and doubtless stuffed with peas, carrots, and chunks of chicken, was oozing gravy onto a pile of sweet potato casserole, covered in a mass of melted marshmallows, brown sugar, and pecans. The other plate was shamelessly half-filled with fried rice, a favorite of his. There were diced veggies and little fluffy bits of scrambled eggs mixed in, and he’d drizzled a thin, homemade soy sauce over the top. The rest of the plate was crammed with desserts; a wedge of pumpkin pie, a fudge brownie, and a couple of chewy rice dumplings, with a sweet pink filling, covered in sesame seeds.

They’d only just taken their coats off and hung them on the backs of their chairs when Micah scooped up his first forkful of rice, biting into the mouthful with gusto, and immediately making a face.  
“Something the matter?” Jordan looked over and Micah chewed and swallowed before replying.  
  
“Yeah, it’s spicy. It didn’t look spicy! It looks just like the stuff I get from the place just down the street from the dorms. It’s one of my favorites, or at least, I thought it was.”  
“You don’t like spicy food?” Jordan looked aghast, then reconsidered. “Does it hurt your stomach?”  
“Nah, not really. At least I don’t… _think_ so.” Micah looked over to Elijah for confirmation, and he shook his head. “I just don’t like the taste.”  
“You clearly have very poor taste.” Jordan asserted and Micah grinned.  
“Sorry, bud. You can have it, if you want.”  
“I’ve got enough, but thank you.”

Micah looked hopefully towards Elijah, who sighed knowingly and held out his hand for the plate.  
“I will, of course, be returning the desserts to you.”  
“That’s okay because I want them back.” Micah laughed. He watched Elijah set his own full plate down underneath his chair before digging into the pile of rice, looking mildly appreciative of the flavor. Confident he hadn’t pushed food on his best friend that he wouldn’t at least enjoy, Micah picked up his other plate and started working his way happily through the meal.

He forked the miniature pie first, because it just looked so _tempting_ , and he wasn’t disappointed. The dough was so perfectly textured, crispy on the outside and soft, almost gooey on the inside. The chicken was cooked to tenderness and biting into pieces of it layered with the golden crust made every mouthful feel like a creamy luxury. He tried to make himself slow down and savor it, but it disappeared faster than he’d have liked. With a few bites left, he began eating his green beans, scraping up the last of the dough from the pie in between mouthfuls of the vegetables. He felt so warm already by the time he twirled his fork in the mound of spaghetti, and settled back happily with a smile. It was going to be a good night.

Elijah had finished the heaping half-plateful of rice, and Micah paused to chew a large bite of the cheesy pasta and take the plate back from him when he handed it over. The spaghetti was as good as it looked, hearty and flavorful, but enjoyable to chew. It felt like a blanket settling in his belly, warm and comforting, then he covered a small hiccup and took a sip of cider. Comforting, but heavy. Especially on top of the pot pie; it was a lot of carbs at once. After swallowing another mouthful of the noodles, coated in meat sauce and shredded cheese, Micah forked a bite of his salad, smearing the greens in the drizzle of tangy vinaigrette dressing. The bitter spinach accented with sweet cranberries was crisp and refreshing, easy to trade on and off with bites of spaghetti. 

Starting to feel a little full by the time he’d cleared most of his plate, Micah leaned back with a sigh, scooping up some of the sweet potato casserole and biting down into the crunch of brown sugar and thick softness of the starchy food beneath. The sweetness melted on his tongue and coated his lips, and as delicious as it was, he realized he might like to have something else to eat with it, something with a sharper flavor.

Elijah was getting up then to refill his own plate, and Micah caught his sleeve as he passed, grinning up at him and getting an indulgent smile in response.

“What would you like?” Elijah asked, leaning over slightly so he could hear his friend’s answer over the background noise of the room.  
“Just something to eat with the sweet potatoes, they’re super good but also really thick.” Micah explained, sipping at his cup again. They both looked over when Jordan spoke up.

“Can I make a suggestion?” They were smiling, and gestured to something on their plate with their fork. “I know you said you don’t like spicy things, Micah, but I think you might like this? It’s like a chickpea curry, and it’s served over rice with a cream sauce, so the cream kind of balances out the kick that it has.”  
Micah mulled it over, then nodded slowly.

“I’ll… _try_ it.” He looked up at Elijah almost warily, who looked highly amused.  
“I will bring you some green beans as well in case it is not to your taste.” He told him, ruffling his hair and heading back to the tables.

Micah drank his cider and tasted his pumpkin pie while Elijah was gone, then ended up finishing the slice because it was just so _good_. The crust was flaky and light, and the filling was dotted with cinnamon and nutmeg, flooding his senses with fragrant accents of fall and winter. 

His belly was growing heavier and he was getting sleepy, but he didn’t want to stop yet. He paused to drape his hand over the roundness of his middle, tastefully concealed by his spacious hoodie. Oh, it felt so good, being so full, with the warm press of his palm to his tummy, already gurgling away and working on the heavy meal. Deciding not to waste time  being bashful, he gave it a careful rub, circling his fingers around the bulge over his navel, the way Elijah always did, and it worked up a helpful belch that he politely stifled with the back of his hand. He drank down the last of his cider when Elijah walked back over, handing him a plate with a small portion of the curry, as well as a modest pile of green beans and another cup, and Micah beamed up at him as he accepted them.

“Thanks, El, this is great.” Micah transferred his sweet potatoes over and stacked the empty plate underneath, smiling even wider when he saw his best friend’s second plate. “I see you found the fish.”

Elijah swallowed the mouthful he’d just taken and Micah could see the gleam of enjoyment in his eyes, and the edge of the flaky fish where he’d forked up a bite. Before eating any more though, he scooted his chair a little closer and slid his hand over the gentle curve of Micah’s tummy, rubbing the swell and his sides with a warm pressure.  
“Your stomach doesn’t hurt, does it?”  
“I’m okay, but wow—“ Micah laughed and leaned back again, going almost limp for a moment with pleasure. “That feels so fucking good.”

“You two are going to make a scene.” Jordan quipped with a smirk, chuckling despite themself.   
“I am being very subtle.” Elijah argued lightly, glancing around.  
“So fucking good.” Micah repeated in a daze, smiling dizzily when Jordan laughed a bit louder.

He sat back up after a few minutes though, waving Elijah off so he’d eat his fish before it got cold, and took a bite of the curry that had been suggested, chewing slowly and contemplatively, then took another bite.

“You like it?” Jordan’s voice was curious as they looked over, and Micah swallowed and thought hard, then reluctantly shook his head.  
“Nah, I’m sorry. It’s not bad! It’s definitely got a nice flavor to it. But I dunno, I just get so distracted by the spiciness that after a while of eating stuff like this it just feels like a chore.”

Jordan hefted a sigh. “We’ve got to get you acclimated to spicy stuff somehow. Maybe you’d enjoy it more if you were more used to it.”  
“Yeah, maybe so.” Micah agreed charitably, lifting his fork to scrape the rice and curry off onto Elijah’s plate. His best friend finished up the last of his grilled fish before beginning to eat it, interchanging it with bites of a baked potato he’d fixed up with butter and cheese.

“You like it, right, Elijah?” Jordan asked almost smugly, looking satisfied when Elijah nodded.  
“Yes, it is very good. The cream sauce does make for a very nice balance to the spice.”  
“At least someone’s got their head on straight around here.” Jordan muttered and Micah laughed.

By the time Micah finished his sweet potatoes and green beans, he felt really stuffed, belly pressing heavily against the inside of his shirt, rounded out with so much good food and sweet cider. He could feel the sense of tightness in the fullest part of his tummy increase and ease up with each deep breath and maybe there was just the tiniest hint of strained digestion from all the richness of the meal, but for the most part he could just sink into a cozy bed and happily food coma for the rest of the night.

But… he still had his brownie and dumplings, and honestly, there were a lot of dishes that he hadn’t tried yet that he really wanted to. If he just took it really slow, nibbled here and there while he talked with Elijah and Jordan to stretch it out, he’d be fine. Then he and Elijah could go home and cuddle and sleep it all off, free of the stress of any upcoming tests or classes.

With a deep breath that pinched at the stuffed feeling in his middle, Micah gathered up his empty plates and cup, heading back to the tables and throwing the extra one away. The other he spooned out tiny amounts of different dishes onto, just enough to get a taste, he told himself. But there were so many, it wasn’t long before his plate was mostly full again, and then there were some dishes where you had to take a pre-measured serving, such as the styrofoam cups of potato soup, or a turkey leg, or a baked square of shepard’s pie. Then when he got to the desserts again, he hesitated for a long moment, before picking up a cup of incredibly dark chocolate mousse. A little place card next to the tray said “Very Bitter!” and he carried it back with him to the chairs where Elijah and Jordan were sitting.

“There is no way you are eating all of that.” Jordan gestured with a laugh and Micah shook his head with a grin.  
“I just wanted to taste a bunch of stuff. I’ll make Elijah eat whatever I can’t.” He declared cheerfully, missing the look of vague apprehension that crossed his best friend’s face as he seated himself carefully to avoid spilling his food. Then he handed the cup of mousse to Elijah who eyed it warily.

“Micah, is this-“  
“It doesn’t have much sugar in it, and it’s not sweet at all.” Micah told him quickly. “I just thought maybe you could try it and see if you like it? It’s like, super dark chocolate.”

Looking more curious now, Elijah picked up the spoon and put a small mouthful past his lips, working his jaw a little and then swallowing slowly. He considered, then took another bite, and hummed appreciatively.  
“It is actually very good. Thank you, Micah.”  
“No problem.” He smiled, happy to have found a dessert his friend would actually like. 

Micah picked up his brownie first, savoring the fudgy texture and sweet crunch of the embedded nuts, licking chocolate crumbs off his lips when he’d finished the last bite. The heavy confection settled in his belly like a stone and he couldn’t help a faint grunt, tugging his thumb in the waistband of his pants a little. Elijah reached over and rubbed his tummy again, giving him a concerned look.  
“Micah, maybe you should wait a while before trying to eat anything else.”  
“I’m okay.” He protested, belching a little and giving a sigh as Elijah’s fingers massaged over his distended tummy, chasing away a slight twinge of grumbly indigestion. “I’m kinda looking forward to finishing up and getting home, actually.” He grinned. “Kinda wanna pass out.”

He muscled down the two sweet rice dumplings with Elijah’s hand still soothing his stuffed, gurgling belly; each was only a mouthful but definitely a bit of a struggle. Finally, he turned to his third, full plate, and let out a ragged sigh. He’d never even be able to make a dent in this. He was just too full.

He took one bite out of the turkey leg, his mouth watering around the savory meat despite his overindulgence starting to cramp a little in his tummy, before washing it down with a drink of cider. He spooned the smallest amounts of creamed corn and cranberry sauce over his tongue, just to taste them, and swallowed a single mouthful of the rich potato soup. Then with a groan and a sigh of defeat, he passed the rest of the food over to Elijah, who accepted it after a pause. Methodically, he began working though the mound, cleaning the plate as Micah rubbed his own tummy soothingly.

Suddenly, there was a buzz in his pocket, and Micah squinted tiredly as he pulled out his phone, glancing at the display, then towards Jordan with a subtle look of confusion. He opened his messages and read what his classmate had sent to him, apprehensively.

(( _You’re not actually going to make him eat all that, are you?_ ))

Micah looked up again, and Jordan was giving him an amused, if a bit reproachful look. They were sitting with their phone in hand, a cup of warm tea in the other, comfortably relaxed and having finished a while ago. They slid their gaze over to Elijah pointedly, and Micah glanced over as well before texting back.

(( _He’s okay! He can eat a lot, don’t worry_.))

(( _But you’ve been passing food off to him all night, and his first plate was really full, not to mention the bowl of stew he ate. It’s still under his chair, he hasn’t even thrown it away yet. I don’t doubt he can eat like a beast, but I don’t think you’ve been paying much attention. And trust me, he looks like he’s starting to struggle_.))

Guiltily, Micah glanced down to the large empty bowl that he definitely hadn’t noticed earlier, then over to his best friend’s face again. He was perfectly composed, but was swallowing with a little more force than necessary, and was going at the food as if it were an objective or a task, rather than a pleasure. It wasn’t until he glanced down at his belly though that Micah felt compelled to speak up and reach over, quickly halting Elijah, who stopped in surprise before letting out a deep belch.

“Whoa, whoa, El, hold up a second!” Micah laughed, a little ashamed, taking the nearly empty plate away from him and setting it aside, then pressing his hands down over the swollen bulge of his friend’s stomach, frankly a little alarmed. Elijah had been sitting in a way to keep it from being immediately noticeable, but his belly was huge. The swell pushed out from under his sternum, and now Micah could hear it gurgling deeply. His form-fitting sweater had a coarse mesh that was noticeably stressed at the center, the spaces in between the woven yarn stretched wider, tiny glimpses of his white undershirt peeking through. He groaned a little, low in his throat, still struggling to look collected as Micah rubbed his belly deeply and encouragingly.

“Why didn’t you say you were already full?” Micah chuckled softly, huffing for breath a little. He paused to move his chair as close as he could manage, to take the pressure off his own stuffed tummy so he wouldn’t have to lean forward so much. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“Nngh.” Elijah squirmed, burping again quietly behind a closed fist. “A little. I’m alright, though. We shouldn’t waste food, hand me that.”  
“No way, dude, you gotta stop or you’ll give yourself an even worse tummy ache.” 

“Well, you clowns will have to sort this out on your own.” Jordan smirked good-naturedly, standing from their chair and giving the other two a mildly sympathetic look. “I have to get going, mom wants to head out.”  
“Sure thing.” Micah glanced up to them with a grin. “Thanks, bud.”  
They shrugged, ignoring Elijah’s slight look of confusion. “Don’t mention it.”

As Jordan walked away, Micah moved the last of the food a little further out of Elijah’s reaching grasp. “Seriously, dude, you’ll make yourself sick.”  
“I won’t.” Elijah insisted with difficulty, shifting in his chair as his own hand rose, pressing to the side of his straining stomach, awkwardly bloated under the muscles of his abdomen. “I can handle it. It’s only a bit left… and we shouldn’t waste food.”  
“I really don’t think— ooh…” Micah paused, pulling one hand off Elijah’s belly to cradle his own gurgling tummy again, laughing with a grimace. “We both ate too much, let’s just get home.”

Looking deeply conflicted, Elijah reached over, shifting with difficulty, wrapping his arm around Micah and laying his warm palm over his tummy comfortingly again, pressing and rubbing and working up a burp that Micah didn’t bother to cover this time. Feeling impossibly full, he leaned against Elijah’s side and struggled not to doze off, then pried his eyes open a few seconds later with an indignant yelp when he realized Elijah had snagged the plate and was doggedly eating the last of the food. 

“You have got to stop.” Micah groaned, but couldn’t muster the energy to fight him for it again, a carbohydrate-laden stupor having drained all the energy from his limbs.  
“We shouldn’t waste food.” Elijah replied firmly, the words edged with an unmistakable moan. He scraped up the last bite of casserole, drained the cup of thick potato soup, and set the empty plate aside. As soon as he did, a loud, distressed gurgle pushed disruptively through the center of his gut and he groaned, his hand coming to clutch regretfully at his engorged stomach.

“Now you’ve done it.” Micah scolded, stroking one hand over the surface of Elijah’s aching belly, from just under where his cheek was pressed to his chest, over the swell and down to his stretched waistline. “You stubborn bastard.”

Elijah only grunted in reply, leaning back somewhat in his chair, his eyes squeezing shut. Shifting, he pushed one leg out slightly, heel digging against the shallow carpet as he squirmed again under the weight of the mass of food inside him. Micah pressed down a little more with the base of his hand, trying to help work out what was surely turning into a cramping bellyache, when his own stomach rumbled painfully and he winced, pressing a little more against Elijah’s hand that was still smoothing over his side, almost absentmindedly.

With an obvious effort to sit up and compose himself, Elijah leaned forward, abandoning his own discomfort to reach over and place both hands more fully over Micah’s tummy, massaging expertly at the swollen curve of it, soft and soothing, from ribs to hipbone, and Micah couldn’t help but sigh and lean into it. His hand rested limply against his best friend’s bloated middle.

“We gotta get home and get to bed.” He laughed softly, groaning with a hiccup that Elijah echoed a moment later, completely unintentionally. “I’m pretty sure I can get up, what about you?”

“Yes, of course.” Elijah answered, not sounding convincing in the slightest. He pulled back, gripped his chair a bit with one hand and pushed himself up, visibly struggling with his shifted center of gravity as his belly gurgled ominously, but he didn’t lift his hands to clutch at it again. Instead he leaned back over slightly, taking Micah’s hand and shoulder and helping him to his feet, reaching back for his coat and draping it around his shoulders before picking up his own and shrugging laboriously into it.

Micah shuffled over to toss away their trash, then took Elijah’s gloved hand when his best friend moved the both of them towards the door. He zipped his coat just before they pushed out into the cold night and shivered, leaning into the one-armed hug that Elijah gave him to shelter him from the wind.

An arduous trek later found them sinking onto a freezing bench down by the bus stop, where blessedly, no other students were waiting. As soon as they could press up against one another again, Elijah had his arm around Micah, rubbing his tummy and palpating gently with his fingers to work out the ache, and Micah stroked the side of Elijah’s belly that he was hugged to. He knew he probably wasn’t helping Elijah as much as he was helping him, but when they got home, things would be easier. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked when Elijah’s tummy twinged with a heavy gurgle against his fingers. His best friend lifted his other hand to cover a burp, then dropped it down to the swell of his own gut, rubbing and pressing his thumb into the tense muscles of his side.

“I… I think I’ve eaten too much.” Elijah admitted very slowly, his breath crystalizing on his beard. Micah then realized Elijah hadn’t buttoned his coat, and, reasoning he must be freezing, reached for the hem of it. He was quickly caught and settled back against the bench, Elijah’s hands returning to rubbing his tummy for him, pressing a little harder to give relief through the thick layer of his winter clothes.

“Dude, aren’t you cold?”  
“Too full.” Elijah groaned softly, shifting as his belly gurgled again, and Micah laughed at the realization that he didn’t want another layer of tight clothing constricting his middle.  
“I’m feeling a little better now, you can let me rub your tummy for a bit?”

Miraculously, Elijah only hesitated for a moment before moving one arm to give Micah more access to his middle, leaning back slightly and closing his eyes again. Micah sighed sympathetically as his palms dragged over Elijah’s rough sweater, feeling his stomach grumble under his touch, packed so full of food. 

“Geez, you are just really having it out with something in there, huh?”  
“Mmm. I’m…alright.” Elijah sounded slightly dazed and Micah chuckled softly, hunching forward a little when something in his tummy shifted and spiked the overfull ache again. Of course, Elijah then tried to shrug him off and go back to tending to him instead.

“Wait, wait, I have an idea.” Micah gasped, caught somewhere between a laugh and a wince. Slowly, trying not to jostle his best friend too much, Micah crawled up onto his knees, draping himself over Elijah’s lap and pulling his big, warm hand over his tummy, even tugging up the edge of his coat a bit. Then, angling his shoulder so he wouldn’t jab him too hard, Micah carefully rested against Elijah’s front, leaning onto his stuffed belly and laying his head on his chest, pressing his own hand to the swell of Elijah’s sweater and stroking rhythmically.

Elijah actually groaned a bit with relief, clearly welcoming Micah’s weight, his other hand lifting to curl supportively around his shoulders and pull him even closer. Micah huffed a little at being squeezed, so Elijah immediately loosened his hold again, and then suddenly, they were both laughing, quietly and a bit breathlessly, but with the kind of hilarity that could keep the giggles going for hours if they didn’t make an effort to calm down. So awkward and uncomfortable that they could barely move, but so warm and stupidly full that neither cared much. They’d certainly sleep well tonight, if nothing else.

A little while after they’d quieted, Micah was almost asleep, still drowsily palming Elijah’s tight, grumbling tummy, though the noises from his best friend’s middle were beginning to sound less distressed and more productive. Elijah was still rubbing Micah’s belly as well, but he was feeling much better, with no more aching cramps and just a heavy sense of immense fullness.

He pried his eyes open again for the fifth time and looked up at the street lamp, sighing deeply with a strange sense of nostalgia, and felt Elijah’s gloved hand ruffle his hair.

“Thank you.” Micah said suddenly, the words rising unbidden to his lips, and then he froze, almost wishing he could take them back, because he knew what Elijah would say next, and that he’d have to answer him…  
Another ruffle. “What for?”  
Micah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “For saving my life.”

He could hear Elijah catch his breath, then his best friend moved, drawing him out to arms’ length, looking into his eyes with a hint of alarm and Micah lifted his hands and fluffed his icy beard to break the tension.

“No, don’t look at me like that, okay? I just… realized very suddenly right now that… I haven’t ever said it before. And with Heida’s coming up and all these families getting together and stuff, I guess I’ve just been thinking about mom a lot. And how furious she would have been if I’d really jumped off the admissions building before the first day of school.” Micah gave a little laugh, a choked sound, then Elijah was pulling him back in to press a kiss to his forehead. “But now I feel like… I dunno, that she would be proud of me. And that’s a really fucking awesome thing to feel, and if you hadn’t stopped me, I wouldn’t have gotten to this point. So… thank you.”

Elijah was quiet for a long moment, save for the involuntary gurgling in his belly, and the thought of that being the sound that kept them from silence had Micah biting back another laugh. Then his best friend put his arms around him in an enormous hug and held him close, nestling his chin atop his hair, sighing deeply. “You’re welcome.” Then, a moment later, “I love you, Micah.”  
Micah grinned and burrowed closer. “I love you too, Elijah.”

Another several minutes passed and Micah eventually began to frown, reaching for his phone and checking the clock. “Damn. That bus sure is taking it’s time.”  
“There may have been a delay due to the weather.” Elijah suggested, waiting until Micah put the device up again, then taking his cold fingers in his hand and squeezing, trying to warm them up. “Micah… could I ask you something?”  
Surprised, Micah looked towards his friend, brows raised. “Sure? What’s up?”

Elijah’s hand massaged around the slope of his waist to tummy, stroking the most tender part of his stretched side and eliciting a groan of contentment. “When you were growing up… did you not stay with _any_ families who treated you well?”

“Well, of course, the one year I did get with mom just before the end of high school was pretty great.” Micah shook his head. “But nah, there were a couple of others. The Harris family… I stayed with them really early on. Age four to… seven, I’m pretty sure. They were real nice and never made me feel unwanted. And then the Salinas family, I went to live with them at eleven? I think? Cause I moved out like three months after my fourteenth birthday. Maybe it’s just cause I was older when I stayed with them, but damn, they really made me feel like part of the family. Like I was one of their own kids. Even called Mrs. Salinas ‘ma’ for a while.” 

Elijah seemed to consider that for a moment, and Micah pressed his hand down over the top of his friend’s belly, giggling a little when he seemed startled by the belch that rumbled up and covered his mouth belatedly.  
After Micah had started rubbing a little at the place he’d pushed in on, Elijah tilted his head slightly. “Did you ever want to go back and visit them? Perhaps for a holiday like Heida’s?”  
“Oh. Well.” Micah sighed. “Not really. It would be pretty awkward, and all. ‘I know you let them take me away but I wanted to come back and see you.’ Just. Never seemed like a good idea.”

Elijah grew very still, and for a moment Micah worried that maybe his stomach was starting to hurt him again, but then he tucked his fingers under Micah’s chin to get him to look him in the eyes, astonishment growing in his expression.  
“Micah, the central city foster care system never lets wards stay with foster homes for more than three years. The families are not given a choice.”

Micah suddenly couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or think. “W-what?”

Elijah rubbed his back and his tummy soothingly, as if he were afraid the sudden news would upset his digestion. “People are much easier to control when they are divided and helpless, or complacent. No area of society is unaffected; the government snatches resources out of the hands of the most needy in every aspect and walk of life, and in the foster care system, they do it by never letting children settle anywhere permanently, and making the adoption process a veritable hell to navigate. Megan had probably started battling for your adoption years before she actually shared the news with you. And those families… a three year period is miraculous in and of itself. An average stay is usually one year… and the families have to fight for every month following that. Three years is just the absolute maximum.”

Micah heard everything his best friend said, but could barely process it. One phrase kept bouncing around the inside of his skull, refusing to settle.  
 _The families are not given a choice.  
_ _The families are not given a choice._

_They didn’t give me up. They didn’t give me up!  
_ _They loved me. They loved me._

**_They loved me!_ **

A loud creaking, wheezing noise accompanied by a motor signaled the arrival of the bus, and without prodding or commenting, Elijah simply scooped Micah up in his arms and carried him on board, setting him down in a seat before showing their pass to the driver. He sat down next to him then, grunting a little, presumably with the weight of his belly still giving him trouble, and Micah leaned against his side in stunned bewilderment.

“Do you think it’s too late?” He croaked in a whisper after they’d ridden a few blocks, and felt his best friend’s hand rub his back comfortingly.  
“No.” Elijah said firmly. “It’s never too late. Tomorrow morning we will get out the phone book and see if we can track them down. If we cannot manage it that way, I have resources of my own I can look through. Maybe you can even see them this holiday, and if not, we will make sure you will not miss the next one.”

Micah quieted for the rest of ride home, an indescribable sense of hope and longing washing over him. The first thing that came to his mind, surprisingly enough, was the pictures. Pictures of family hangouts, school activities, holidays, his birthdays. He hadn’t taken any with him when he’d left, because it had seemed pointless to carry something around that would just make him hurt. 

Music, also. All those songs he hated growing up, about good old days and childhood memories, that he never wanted to listen to, because he never felt he had any fond memories to look back on, because all his good ones were soured by the belief that no one loved him enough to ever want to keep him. 

Mrs. Salinas’ hugs. Her two sons, and her daughter, who treated him like one of their pack. Their good-natured shoving, and playful punches, and Mr. Salinas’ deep, rough voice, telling them all that there had better be order in the living room by the time he reached the count of three, or they’d all be helping scrape the algae out of the gutters that Saturday morning. 

It had been so many years now though, would they even still want to see him? Would they remember him at all? He bit his lip and took a deep breath, feeling his stuffed tummy twinge a little. He’d know soon. Maybe he’d get a chance to have a distant sort of family, maybe not. But for now, he had a hope and a relief he’d never known before.

_They loved me. They_ **_loved_ ** _me._

“El?” Micah murmured, relaxing into the touch when his best friend’s hand brushed his cheek.  
“Yes?”  
“How did you… know all that stuff? About the foster care system?”

Elijah didn’t answer at first, and when he did, he sounded sad. “Because when it became a danger that Brielle and I might have been taken up by social services, I needed to know the risks of what we potentially faced. The conclusion I reached was that it was better for us if we could pull off the impression that our home life was still relatively functional, if it would prevent us from being separated and shuffled for the rest of our lives, which I believed would be immensely damaging to her health.”

Micah jolted with shock and looked up into Elijah’s face. “They would have taken you up into social services?? What for?”  
Elijah looked uncomfortable. “Neglect.”  
Micah stared blankly at him. “But… I thought you lived with your parents, growing up?”

Elijah’s gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the close quarters of the bus and he didn’t say anything for a long time. “My parents occupied the same living space as my sister and I, for most of our childhood. But… they were not really there.”  
“What do you mean?” Micah squinted at him, trying to read his suddenly unreadable expression. “What are you talking about?”

His best friend’s hand rose, and he cupped his chin, his thumb stroking the soft edge of his jawline, just beneath his ear. He had taken his gloves off and his fingers were warm, contrasting strangely with the utter emptiness in his eyes.  
“Please, Micah. Not tonight.”  
Micah’s brow drew and he felt his anger rising slightly. “Why not?”  
Elijah dropped his gaze, and his hand. “Because… I have felt very happy tonight, and very loved, spending time with you, and I want to keep that feeling, instead of it turning to this. Please.”

“Oh… oh, don’t look like that.” Micah breathed, understanding very suddenly, and feeling sorry for bringing up bad memories, reaching out to hug Elijah with a sigh of relief when he relaxed. “I’m sorry. We can talk about it some other time.”  
“Thank you.” Elijah whispered, hugging him back and closing his eyes.

When they got off at their stop, the few blocks’ walk back to the apartment seemed a lot longer distance than it usually did, mostly because they were both longing to curl up and sleep off the enormous dinner they’d eaten. Elijah’s belly hadn’t stopped gurgling the entire time, and he had kept a hand over it for much of the last stretch, and only took it away to unlock the door and close it behind them.

Micah eagerly scrambled into a pair of sweats and brushed his teeth, laughing and putting a hand on Elijah’s back when his friend groaned at the effort it took to lean over and get his own sleep clothes out of a low drawer. They crawled into bed together, because their tummies were still hurting a bit if they were both honest, and cuddled up under the blankets. 

“Goddesses, El.” Micah laughed softly, pressing his palms over his friend’s swollen stomach, grinning a little more when he winced slightly. “I don’t think it’s gone down at all.”  
“How are _you_ feeling?”  
“Better, now that I’m lying down.” Micah yawned, nonetheless going limp under the soothing motion of Elijah’s hand rubbing circles over his belly. “That still feels fucking good, though. But you sound like you still have quite a tummy ache.”

Elijah grimaced and shifted slightly, as if he were trying to settle the gurgling in his middle. “A little.” Then suddenly he gave a pained smile, shooting Micah an impish look. “This is, of course, entirely your fault, you realize.”  
“ _My_ fault?” Micah squawked, digging his fingers into the swell of Elijah’s stomach slightly, partially to retaliate and partially to press a burbling pocket of air that came up as a deep belch, followed by a groan. “Who was it that kept stuffing food in his face after I said it was time to stop? _You_ did, you absolute fuckwit.”  
“After _you_ loaded up a plate you knew you would never be able to eat.”  
“You were totally enabling me! If you didn’t want to be treated like a human garbage disposal, you should have said something earlier!”

A look crossed Elijah’s face that said he was debating something heavily, then he smirked and muttered rebelliously, “Fuck you.”

Micah laughed. He laughed so hard his stomach started to cramp again, and then he was bent double, holding it and trying to contain himself as Elijah’s hands quickly pulled him close again and rubbed the parts of his middle he could actually reach.

“It’s about time.” Micah wheezed finally, stretching back out so his best friend could massage away the cramps. “It’s about fucking time you learned how to backtalk. I can’t believe it’s taken you this long, holy shit.”

His best friend sighed deeply and didn’t respond directly, still looking highly amused, but focused now on comforting him. He didn’t struggle though when Micah reached over and stroked his belly again as well, firm and soothing, quelling the achy twinges and rumbles of his stuffed tummy.

Micah fell asleep first, going still against the mattress, his face peaceful and serene, and Elijah watched him blissfully for a long while. His kissed his best friend’s forehead, stroked his hair, rubbed his back, and his belly. Micah was quiet and relaxed in his arms, and even though his engorged stomach didn’t leave a lot of room for the deep breathing that singing required, Elijah couldn’t resist this final, sentimental temptation. 

“ _When I’m with you_ ,” He whispered the melody. “ _To see the morning light rise_ ,  
 _The stars from above now shine from your eyes.  
_ _Though we’ve both seen the storms,  
_ _We hope not in vain.  
_ _The song bids our hearts,  
_ _Carry on through the rain.  
_ _No matter the trials,  
_ _No matter the shame_ ,”

Elijah closed his eyes, tucking his chin over Micah’s curls and holding him close.  
“ _We cling to the stories that keep the world sane_.”


	13. Everything Will Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah has been secretly mending problems from behind the scenes, but it’s more costly to him than he wants to let on. Eventually though, even he has to call for help.

Elijah stood, watching the variegated flashes of light on the brick wall of the tunnel as the train passed by. His hands were pocketed, his head was bent. He took slow, measured breaths, in and out, counted them, willed his heart rate to stay steady and calm.

There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. A summons could mean anything. There was no reason to get worked up. And if he walked into those headquarters looking like a deer in the headlights, it would raise unnecessary questions that he might have never have had to answer otherwise. Elijah took a final deep breath, lifted his head, squared his shoulders. He cloaked himself in impassiveness, in coldness. His eyes narrowed.  

The underground railway was never very busy in the middle of the day, but he still cast a glance from side to side before jumping down into the trench, stepping over the electrified rails with immense caution. He grasped the concrete ledge at the other side, hefted himself up, and looked around once more before pressing his fingers to a brick, forcing it into the interior of the wall, turning it as he did so.

A wide panel that followed the pattern of the tunnel cracked open, and Elijah slid his fingers into the space to force it wider, grabbing onto the stones for more leverage, pulling the door until he could slip though. He shut it behind him, twisting the interior knob that would lock the hidden brick back into place. Headquarters. It was warmer inside, compared to the cold, dark tunnel.

The entryway that stretched in front of him was wide, with stark, white walls and a glass roof, looking up into the brewery aboveground. The brewery was little more than a front, serving only to shield the headquarters from detection by law enforcement, but it’s old, rustic plumbing and metal paneling functioned perfectly in that regard. The hallways of the two floors above where he stood were open to the inside of the entrance hall, making them look like balconies. Multiple doors led away from the hall in a star like pattern, two of which were elevators, being used even as he entered. All in all, the place was huge.

People bustled back and forth, all of whom he ignored, barely even glanced at he passed, carrying himself as if they were beneath his notice. He recognized most, of course, other gang members and managers of illicit rings, heads for both the technological black market and the drugs trade. Travis was connected directly with some of these people, and had offered Elijah up as a recruit, among other favors, in exchange for valuable access to an underground railway entrance on the east side of the city. That was always the way to go about making deals down on the street level; approach them as if you were offering a favor, rather than asking for one. 

Elijah, for his part, had not wasted the connection, and had risen swiftly in the ranks since the age of 17. The first couple of years, he won admiration and accolade by putting his objectives above all else; above money, above sanity, above his very life. His work with robotics had only served to push him further into good graces, as he was able to provide high-tech information to some of the most important branches of the black market. He was known for being efficient, deadly, calculative. Once he was out of school, he would likely be set up as a supervisor to some of the most dangerous areas downtown, in the inner city. 

And yet, all he could think of as he approached the third door from the left, was how badly he wanted to be at home with Micah, frying some eggs or maybe just snacking on cereal, holding back a smile as his best friend planned out a five-hour long marathon of Heida’s movies. He tried to force the thoughts from his mind; he couldn’t afford weakness now, not with so many eyes to see it if he let something slip. He couldn’t let the fear show on his face. He couldn’t let his hands tremble.

It was supposed to be tomorrow, that he would pick Micah up, bring him home, where they could spend the remainder of their holiday from school comfortably. He hadn’t been expecting to get this summons, and he feared how that might alter their plans. He tried desperately to convince himself it was just an unexpected shift in responsibilities. That was all. There was no reason to get worked up.

After the end of the semester, Micah had spent a weekend with him before heading over to Sasha’s house, freeing Elijah to tend to his commitments at the street level. That weekend, the two of them had spent hours pouring over phone books and city directories, searching for the address, or even just the contact information, that might lead them to the family that Micah remembered fondly as having loved and cherished him, for the few years he lived with them as their foster child. They’d made little progress, but Elijah had promised he’d be looking into things more intensely from his own resources, and had full intention to find the Salinas family before their spring break, so that Micah could visit them then, if they were willing. 

As he passed through the door and descended the stairs to the deepest part of HQ, Elijah struggled not to let the creeping sensation of being buried alive dislodge his carefully-reinforced mental walls. He was worrying over nothing. Being called before the heads of the organization had any number of implications. There was no reason to fixate on the worst possible—

“Ah, there you are, boy.” A cruel voice, edged with laughter, floated over the basement floor towards him as he exited the stairway. He took slow, measured steps, until he stood at an even point between the back of the room and the front of it, nodding respectfully, but not letting his head dip far enough to be considered a bow. Dignified. Absolutely no groveling. Submission, not cowardice.   
“You wanted to see me?”

Raul Tenner was an enormous man. He was almost certainly descended from a line of human and halar, but his frequent abuse of moon syrup must be at least partially responsible for the muscle that bulged in a grotesque display from his shoulders and back. Scars, cavernous divots of tissue adorned his face and hands, and there was a scheming look in his eyes behind the false air of humor about him. He made Elijah sick.

“I’m not gonna waste time beating around the metaphorical bush.” Tenner smirked, rising from his chair, flanked by the other four heads who merely watched, looking bored. “We know what you’ve been up to, kid. I suppose you have something to say for yourself?”

He stopped in front of Elijah, looking down his nose at him with a malevolent grin, hands on his hips. Elijah forced himself to look impassive and unconcerned. He curled his fingers slightly to stop them from shaking.  
“Might I request that you be more specific?”

Tenner hefted an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes and pulling a device from his pocket, checking the display with a frown. “Alright, so we’re playing it your way, then. I have reports from two different outlets that you’ve been calling in favors, without reporting them to your supervisor, or returning resources to the playing field level. Namely, you’ve used the police contact under sector 33 to redirect a staged set of incidents regarding a family by the last name of Ede. The antagonizer has been mollified, but it cost at least three minor marks, only one of which shows up in my accounts as being ‘paid.’”

“With all due respect,” Elijah began, the edges of his vision greying with terror, “I have resources lined up to be able to repay those favors within the next two months. I never intended it to pose a significant setback, and have plans to resolve matters as quietly as possible.”

Tenner gave him a cold look, and Elijah struggled not to let the dread show in his face. A weak, vulnerable urge to plead for mercy constricted his chest. He could not give in to what he felt. He could not. 

“That’s not the way it works around here, you know that.” Tenner pocketed the small computer again, turning away and heading back towards his seat with the others. “Favors are repaid immediately and without delay; there can be no expense afforded to any accumulated debt. And the fact that you did not report this to Rogers reflects very badly on you, I hope you realize.”

Elijah waited, frozen to the floor, for the inevitable sentence. If he had gone to Rogers earlier, everything would have fallen through. He called one favor to have the hired thugs leave Sasha’s family alone, and another favor to cover up the disappearances of the men he’d killed in the conflict. The third favor he’d called in a few weeks later, to send false reports back to Rousseth that the act of intimidation had been successful. If, at any point, he’d made a report to his superior, he would have had to give his reasons for why he was playing the system like he was. If it had been discovered that it was for purely personal sentiment, his resources would have been cut off, and he’d have been denied further access. He knew what he risked, but he had been hoping, so desperately, that it might go unnoticed until he could pay it back himself…

“You know the drill, boy.” Tenner reseated himself and gave a shrug. “Either you walk, or you go to the cellar.”  
Elijah closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“The cellar.” He replied, lifting his head and meeting Tenner’s gaze. The man grinned, knowing his power, but maybe, just maybe, impressed with Elijah’s composure. He could only hope.  
“This is your second strike, you know. Don’t get a third.”

-

The first strike, Elijah had earned when he was fourteen years old.

They’d not beaten him for very long. Some part of him clung to the idea that it was because he had been young and thin, wide-eyed and malnourished, and maybe they didn’t really want to kill a child over something that hadn’t turned out to have any significant consequences.

He always wondered why he did it. Police officers were, at best, misguided fools in the corrupt service of a diabolical governmental entity, and at worst, were active persecutors of the most oppressed members of society.

But as he’d knelt next to the overturned cruiser, watching the blood trickle down the man’s face, as the fire in the gas station nearby filled the sky with an orange light, he’d caught sight of a torn, mangled photograph, of three smiling children, and a dog, and something manic had taken control.

He remembered wondering why his hands looked so small next to the hands of the unconscious man in the driver’s seat, when he hacked away the seatbelt with his blunt knife, and looking back, he knew it was because he had always seen himself as stronger and bigger than he ever really was. When all the fights and all the crime was just to put food on the table for his sister, and clothes on her back, and pencils and paper in her schoolbag, and how often he went to bed, clutching an empty stomach that hurt from being hungry for so long, he imagined himself invincible. He was so strong, to go through all of that and still hold her hands, her bare feet over his, and dance around the living room to her favorite music. 

He’d dragged the police officer to a safe distance and then made a run for it. His supervisor had seen him, and had punished him accordingly, but no one else had, and it didn’t reflect badly on the gang overall, because the police officer had not regained consciousness until the next day, and couldn’t remember the circumstances of his rescue. And Elijah, so desperate to prove himself, that he wasn’t a liability, and that he could learn to take orders with no deviance, no weakness, had eagerly thrown himself under the crowbar when threatened with expulsion, not knowing what it really meant, what he would really endure, and honestly, he had never quite recovered.

Of course, he’d not been connected to the inner circle back then, not until Travis spoke up on his behalf. The less-severe punishment might have resulted solely from the fact that the order hadn’t come directly from Tenner. Now, as he followed one of the other heads next door to the cellar, that desperate urge was back, to beg, to plead to be given another chance, to assure them that the favors would be repaid, that no debt would linger, _please, please, please_ …

Elijah stopped walking when he reached the center of the room, and knelt down. He went through the motions of preparation, taking off his coat, folding it neatly, and laying it aside. His shirt came next, and he stacked them together, pushed them a few feet away. Maybe it would keep the blood off of them.  
_Please, please, please_ …  
_Don’t do this_.

The first blow fell without warning.

He’d taken too long to get down on his hands, hesitating, so the man struck down, crowbar in hand, against the back of his skull, sending him falling forward, barely catching himself in time. He cried out with the wave of agony that radiated down his spine, then the sound choked off as he clenched his teeth, desperate to stay as silent as possible, to appear tough, unbreakable…

More blows followed in rapid succession. There was no time to recover between each strike and the searing pain that each delivered; as the iron battered his body and the vessels under his skin burst with repeated blows, spreading the bruises over his skin, he thought he might have felt a rib _crack_ \- the hisses of pain and guttural moans became harder and harder to conceal.

He lost track of time, entered some kind of lucid delirium. Tears tracked down his cheeks, his breath stuttered on every exhale, and the onslaught was relentless. Blood began to stream down his sides, his skin split under the force of the beating, his vision wavered. His nails bled against the concrete with how hard he was digging them for some kind of purchase, some kind of focus. His back was a sea of agony, skin swollen, tender, stretched tight around the cuts, the gashes, the welts. He stopped silently begging for it to be over. He couldn’t even remember that it hurt.

-

 _It hurt_.

Elijah opened his eyes, his lashes sticky with dried tears, his breath misted into the freezing air. He was on fire, and it was so cold, and he had to get home before Bri started wondering where he was.

“I’m coming…” He promised, voice broken, bloody fingers reaching for the edge of the curb. “Don’t leave without me…”

Light flashed around his eyes, and he blinked, moved his shoulders to try to push himself up, and the wave of torment that flooded his senses in response to that collapsed him into a heap. A soft, mewling whimper pushed through his teeth and he shuddered.

“Wait…” He begged, reaching out again, fingers grasping at nothing. “Don’t leave me here alone! Don’t leave me here, I’m coming, I…” Bri turned and walked away, and he cried. “It’s time to go home—“

They picked her up, and she was still, and she didn’t fight them, and how could she, _how could she_ , didn’t she remember anything about what he’d told her about trusting strangers?

“No!” He screamed, lunging forward, choking on the agony of the flames in his skin. “No! You can’t take her, I’m her brother, I’m here to take her home, she’s coming _with me!_ You can’t take her, she’s _mine!_ ”

 _“Realized his suicide attempt was unsuccessful… attempted to bludgeon himself to death against the bed railings…”  
_“Let me go.” Elijah cried. “I have to go with her. I have to… I can’t… leave her alone.”

Pain and heat and light. He cried, the fire ate at him, the flames seared his skin.  
“Don’t… leave me here alone… don’t… leave me here alone…”

Pain and heat and light. He opened his eyes, truly this time, wider, enough that he could see around him, the dark alley, the night sky, his clothes thrown in a heap next to him. He coughed and the tortured groan that slipped past his lips in response to the jostling movement reminded him that he wasn’t on fire. He had just been beaten within an inch of his life.

For a moment all he could do was lie there and breathe, remembering where he was, what was going on. He dragged his swollen fingers across the pavement, fumbled at the pocket of his coat, the ground beneath him slick with his own frozen blood. He managed to get his phone out and it was damaged beyond repair. Someone must have stepped on it or slammed it against a wall when they’d dumped his unconscious body outside.

He clutched the destroyed device close to his chest, as his body began to shake, harder, and he begged himself not to start crying again, because he couldn’t bear the pain that would come with the sobs, because it hurt, it hurt _so much_ , but the name was already rising to his lips and he couldn’t stop himself. He’d been wordless, and compliant, and obedient, all the way through his punishment, and he couldn’t help it now, he couldn’t help but beg.

“Micah.” He cried. “Micah…”  
His teeth chattered as he sobbed, curling further in on himself, clutching at his own shoulders as if he could tear away the blanket of pain on his back. His breath came in tiny, stuttering gasps, and he cried, he couldn’t stop.  
“ _Micah!_ ” A sudden breath found its way into his lungs with immense force and he wailed, lifting his head slightly as if, maybe, if he could see a bit farther, he’d see his best friend coming around the corner. “Micah…” He cried, and cried.

No one heard him. No one came.  
“Stop it.” Elijah told himself. “Stop it…”  
Micah wouldn’t know what to do. And seeing him like this would only make him distraught, panicked. Elijah’s chest clenched at the thought of Micah’s wide, terrified eyes, tearstained and helpless at a sight like this.

Then another thought, breaking through his walls before he could stop it - Micah’s arms around his shoulders, his head on his chest. The crook of his neck was soft and warm, and easy to hide in when they were sprawled on the couch together, and Micah always laughed because Elijah’s facial hair apparently tickled him when he burrowed here.

Elijah choked and clenched his hands, inwardly tearing himself apart so he’d not dare to open his mouth and cry for Micah again. It was mindless and pointless… and he could not allow himself to fall to pieces in front of Micah, not like this. He could not let his best friend suffer for this in any way…   
_Don’t take. Do not take. You do not_ ** _want_** _. You do not_ ** _need_** _._

“Get up.” Elijah whimpered, shaking. “Get up…”  
The skin on his back pinched and tore slightly as he dragged himself to his knees, the frozen blood catching at the edges of the wounds. He gasped at the flickers of searing pain but kept going, until he was sitting, and shaking, realizing that he could be in danger of hypothermia, despite the way his body felt like it was on fire.  
It took a moment to think around the agony, to get a grasp on the reality of his situation. There was no way he could tend to this himself.

“Mary…” He whispered. He didn’t really have a choice. And maybe if the circumstances surrounding this were different, if he’d not risked his standing and his hard work on the friend of a friend - but it wasn’t like that, not really, Sasha was his friend too, wasn’t she? He loved her… she was important to him… But he could only shiver with dread at the thought of… what Mary would say… the way she’d look… when he admitted he’d done it for his college friends. The most important people in his life.

But he’d never reach her house in this state. He could barely move, he couldn’t possibly risk traipsing down into the underground railway again for a train home. Mary didn’t have a number, the line to her house was hardwired into his phone, so he had no way to reach her or ask her to come pick him up. He didn’t have any contacts he could trust wouldn’t hold this over him later as another owed favor, which was the last thing he needed right now.

A wave of pain and nausea swept over him as he turned, the frozen blood on his back splintering and pulling at the open gashes. He tilted and clutched at a corner of the wall, dizzily staring at the sidewalk, trying to breathe. 

 _Micah_. He didn’t want to admit it, couldn’t bear to expose his best friend to the trauma of seeing him in this state. But it was the only way he could think of to get the matter taken care of. If he tried to _walk_ , all the way to Mary’s house, alone, he’d likely collapse and be frozen dead by morning. He couldn’t just leave Micah alone like this. He needed to be there for him… he had to…

Black spots coated his vision and he groaned, struggled not to retch, flinching away from the thought of what that would feel like. He wanted Micah there. He wanted the shelter of Micah’s arms, and his voice, and his warmth…  
And then he screamed in his mind, at himself, like a child losing control, throwing things, breaking them—  
_You do not_ ** _want!_** _You do not_ ** _need!_** _That is not why you are here! You can’t do this! Don’t take!_ ** _Don’t take!_**

If he called Micah, he must remain as composed as possible, as efficient, and reasonable, and reassuring as possible. He would ask for help to get to Mary’s house, and then he would send him back with Sasha, maybe with a hug and a kiss so his best friend would feel reassured, and he would not contact him again until he was well. 

Hands shaking, Elijah gathered up his shirt and his coat, held them in a bundle close to his chest. Every movement was a special kind of hell. Every breath was torture. Trembling, swallowing hard, he got one foot underneath himself, reached out with one hand to grab at the wall. He stood.

The nearest payphone was only a block over. He’d used it before. It was in a handy location; close to headquarters but far enough from any hidden entrances to not raise suspicion. It was the farthest he’d ever walked in his life.

He fell to his knees a short distance away, gasping with a wrenching cry at the pain that washed over him. He was shaking too hard, there was no way he could stand again, so he crawled, dragged himself the last few steps, pulled himself hand over hand up to the receiver and the number pad, quaking violently and choking back tears.

He placed the call and sat back down, phone in hand and the cord stretched to its limit, but he could not stand. He just couldn’t. He felt he’d freeze to death at any moment, but he was on fire, and if he put his coat on then it would catch fire too…

“Hello?”  
For a brief moment, Elijah felt he didn’t have the strength. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t hold himself together, not with Micah so close, just on the other end of the receiver, warmth and safety and… and love…  
He could have slapped himself. He almost did.  
_You do not want. You do not need. Don’t you_ ** _dare_** _take from him. You are not here for that. Do what is best for him. Do you love Micah or not?_

“Micah.” He said quickly, before his best friend hung up. He cleared his throat. “I’m in a difficult situation, and I need assistance. Is Sasha or Jacob there?”  
“You sound… really awful, dude. Why’d you call from a weird number? Are you okay? I can hear your teeth chattering, don’t fucking tell me you’re out in this weather?”

 _No… it hurts… and I miss you and I want you here_ … _please help me_ …

“I’m afraid so. Try not to be too upset, but I am in need of medical assistance that I cannot take care of on my own. I have a contact that I can see to get help, but I’m not able to get to her house on foot, and my phone is broken—“

“Right, we’ll come get you in the truck!” On the other end of the line, there was the sound of shuffling and Micah’s voice calling out for Sasha, before he spoke into the phone again. “El… you’re really scaring me. Please tell me you’re okay? And where are you?”

Elijah closed his eyes, sending tears streaming down his cheeks again, knowing he’d have to be completely dry-eyed by the time Micah arrived.  
“At the corner of Emalton avenue and Flinders street. Micah… I’m sorry, but I am actually quite severely injured. Please don’t be frightened though, I am calling you so that you can help me get the assistance I need. Everything will be alright. You do not have to worry about anything, I promise.”  
“C’mon Elijah, what _happened?_ You gotta tell me-“

The line went dead, and the dial tone sounded. Elijah looked up at the little flashing light, telling him to insert another coin.

He left the phone to dangle and crawled over to the nearby wall, pulling out his knife with shaking hands. He forced himself to stay awake by passing the time in cutting off the sleeves of his heavy sweater, opening up the sides of it so he could drape it over his head without struggling to bend his arms, contort his back. The fabric adhered to his wounds, and his vision wavered red at the edges with pain. He worried, in some part of his mind, that he’d go completely delirious, and not be able to control himself when it came to comforting Micah, that he’d fall apart, that he’d take from him, and he _couldn’t_ , he mustn’t do that…

He pulled his coat on, gasping with the strain, then stayed, huddled and freezing, bleeding and fading in and out of awareness. His back was ripped open and doused in acid, in fire, and he couldn’t breathe, wanted nothing more than to be sick, but he couldn’t let himself heave, because he was absolutely certain the accompanying wave of pain would send him unconscious to the pavement.  
But maybe… the shredded sweater and dense overcoat would cover enough of the blood that Micah wouldn’t worry too much…

There was no way to know how much time passed. Elijah floated adrift in a lake of fire, breathing, clinging to every fleeting, distracting thought that would help keep the tears at bay. By the time headlights flashed over his head, glancing off the light layer of snow that had collected on his hair and shoulders, he didn’t register the sounds of slamming car doors and raised, panicked voices until someone hit their knees on the sidewalk in front of him and took his face in their warm hands with a loud cry.

“ _Elijah!_ Oh goddesses, can you hear me? Talk to me! Say something!”

Elijah lifted his head, his gaze locking on Micah’s terrified, tearstained face, and he smiled softly.  
He could hear now, Sasha’s desperate pleading directed at Jacob, about how they couldn’t go to a hospital, just to get him in the car…

Elijah lifted his shaking, bloodied hands, and cupped Micah’s face in return, leaning forward just enough to press a kiss to his forehead, and he heard his best friend sob.  
“E-Everything will b-b-be alright.” He whispered. “I p-promise.”

-

It was a fairly unassuming little house, tucked away in a seemingly random neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The front walkway was a tasteful arrangement of stepping stones, and there were some flower bushes on either side. The front door was blue and the roof was red, or at least, as best he could tell in the faint light from the street lamp over by the curb.

Micah didn’t bother to inspect it more closely; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Elijah for long. He hadn’t stopped crying for a minute, and his hands were clasped to either side of his best friend’s face where they both knelt in the floorboard of the backseat of Jacob’s truck. His fingers trembled against Elijah’s alarmingly cold skin and damp facial hair. His best friend was frighteningly quiet, and his expression was empty, save for the slight smile he tried to force every so often when his gaze shakily focused on Micah. But the smile was so hollow, and his eyes almost seemed grey. He shook, almost rattled in Micah’s hold, and blood stained the fringes of his clothes a terrifying scarlet. But he still wouldn’t give _in_ , just _rest_ , just let himself be taken _care_ of; he held himself rigidly and refused to answer any questions about what happened, how badly he was hurt. He deflected every single tearful, desperate question with a stuttering promise that everything would be alright.

Somewhere in the mess of his anguish and worry, Micah couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Elijah didn’t trust him as much as he thought. If the situation was less dire, it might even make him angry. They’d been through everything together, the two of them, or at least, he had believed so, and now… just as he had every moment of the past two years, when things got scary, and he got hurt, Elijah was shutting him out. Completely. Wouldn’t even answer how he was feeling, or tell him what he needed, or relax into his hold. 

They parked and he could hear Sasha and Jake jumping out of the front seats, then suddenly the back doors of the truck were opened, and Elijah lifted his gaze slightly.

“Can you get up?” Jake was there, leaning over the seat, and Micah quickly scrambled backwards out of the floorboard, jumped down onto the pavement. Elijah watched him go, then gripped the back of the passenger’s seat, braced his arm on the backrest, and lifted himself enough to get one of his feet underneath him. Jake came around to the other side, hooking his hands under Elijah’s shoulders, pulling him back and almost freezing in place at the guttural moan that slipped through the other boy’s clenched teeth. But then he seemed to shake himself as Elijah found his feet and stood, leaning heavily on the car for support.

A creaking sound carried over the yard as light washed out onto the grass, and all of them turned their heads to find the door to the house opening. An avesian woman, with graying hair, battered horns, and kind eyes, peered over the porch to the truck. Her gaze flitted over each of them before coming to rest on Elijah, and then she seemed to go still in shock, wings spreading slightly, and Micah turned to look at his best friend’s face, feeling ice-cold fear in his veins at the strange shadow of dread he saw in his eyes.

“Elijah!” The woman was running across the yard now, but stopped just before she got to them, glancing them all over once again. “What is going on? Sweetheart, are these your friends?”  
“Mary.” Elijah gasped, trembling, unable to push off from the car enough to stand. “I’m sorry-“

“He’s hurt.” Sasha interjected quickly, putting a hand on Elijah’s arm and pulling him forward towards the woman, who came forward to catch him as he stumbled in the snow. Sasha looked stricken for a moment, then focused back on Mary’s face. “He’s really hurt, and he said you could help him. He asked us to bring him here to you.”

“Let’s get you inside.” Mary told Elijah softly, who was leaning precariously into her hold, his face going from grey to ashen white. “Oh, darling, no, no-“ Mary shooed gently at Micah who had come to Elijah’s other side, clutching his arm. “We have to get him lying down before you can grab at him too much. All of you, follow me.”

The woman turned with purpose and half-led, half-dragged Elijah with her to the house. He visibly struggled not to lean too heavily on her, but there seemed to be a strength in her frame that belied her slight form.   
“What happened, sweetheart?” Micah overheard Mary ask, and watched as Elijah shuddered.  
“T-Tenner.” His best friend coughed. “Cellar.”

Neither of those words made anything clearer to Micah, but they seemed to make perfect sense to Mary. Her expression turned blank for several moments, then heavy. Micah couldn’t tell whether it was worry or… something else.

The five of them filed in through the front door, and Jake closed it behind them. Mary didn’t stop, just continued half-carrying Elijah with her through the house, ignoring the streaks of dirt and blood his boots left on the carpeted floor. Micah followed them into a back bedroom, then stopped in surprise, watching her lower his best friend down to a bed pushed against one wall, stomach-down, where he finally fully collapsed, sinking onto the mattress with immense, pained exhaustion. His entire body shook violently, wracked with shivers.

The room around them was startling. Medical machinery lined the walls; an x-ray unit, an IV drip, an oxygen tank - a bunch of other things Micah couldn’t even put a name to. 

Mary moved swiftly, untying and discarding Elijah’s shoes, hosting his legs up onto the bed so he was lying flat. She lifted a pair of scissors that glittered in the light, apparently edged with mooncrystal, and swiftly cut away the coat on Elijah’s back, pulling away the thick fabric, shucking it off his arms and tossing the destroyed garment aside.

Micah cried out, his hands flying to cover his mouth as a choking, suffocating sob seized his body, then he realized Jake’s arms were around him, holding him fast, preventing him from sprinting across the cramped room to throw himself at Elijah and— do what, exactly? Hurt him worse? Collapse on him and sob and damage his abused skin even further?

Elijah’s sweater was glued to his back with dried blood; the pale gray fabric completely soaked through. On his sides and upper shoulders, where the edges of the garment had been cut, Micah could see gashes, gaping cuts, and swollen, blistering welts. Where there weren’t open wounds, there were dark purple and black patches, and sinister, sprawling red veins.

Micah chanced a look at Sasha’s face, and didn’t know whether to feel panicked or relieved that at least he wasn’t the only one losing his mind. His girlfriend stood, jaw agape, tears in her eyes that hadn’t yet spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes were wide with horror.

Elijah had lifted his head slightly in response to the sounds of Micah crying, and as he cast a glance over them all, something shifted in his expression. With his movements halting and pained, he reached behind himself and grasped a corner of the bedsheet, drawing it over himself and covering the awful sight. He rested his head back on the pillow and looked at them sorrowfully, and then, Mary turned on her heel.

“Alright my dears, I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave now.” The woman told them, waving them towards the door with such authority that they all took an involuntary step or two back.

“ _ **No!**_ ” Micah screamed, so suddenly and with such force that Jake almost let go of him entirely when he lunged against the older boy’s arms as if to break free. “I’m _not_ leaving him! I _can’t!_ “ He sobbed, shaking, burying his face in his hands and missing the way that Elijah flinched in response. 

“Oh, my love,” Mary whispered, placing her hands onto Micah’s shoulders gently, and he looked up with another choked gasp. “I know you must be frightened. You have my word that I will give Elijah the best of care, but I’m afraid that is easiest with as few distractions as possible. Not only that, but your very presence here increases several risk factors for both of us.”

“No…” Micah pleaded, ignoring the hand that Sasha pressed to his back. “No, please, you c-can’t make me go, he’s my _best friend_ , I love him, I can’t leave him like this…”  
“We’ll go.” Sasha said behind him suddenly, her hand falling from his back. “My brother and I. We’ll go right away, but please let Micah stay here. He needs to be here for him.”

“ _Please_.” Micah begged, looking up into violet eyes that he could tell were going to tell him “no” again. “I’ll calm the fuck down, whatever I need to do, Just _please_ let me stay.”

Mary sighed, opening her mouth, her gaze impassive and unchanged, and then a low, broken voice from across the room spoke up.  
“I-If Micah… wants t-to st-stay, I m-m-might… feel b-better with him h-h-here…”

Micah grew still, hope washing over him in a tidal wave as Mary halted and looked over her shoulder in surprise. Elijah wasn’t even looking at them. His eyes were squeezed shut and his entire body shook uncontrollably. But still—

 _He wants me here. He feels better with me here_. Micah clung to the words for all they were worth. He turned to watch Mary’s face and an odd sort of blankness stole over her countenance again. Then, she took a deep breath.

“Alright, honey, but I’m still going to need you to wait in the living room until I get him fixed up. If you have a phone or any kind of cellular device on you, I need you to turn it completely off.”

“We’ll… go.” Sasha whispered, and Micah spun around to pull her into a tight hug, and felt her shudder in his arms once before hugging him back with all her strength.  
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can.” He whispered, and felt her give a shaky nod.

Sasha and Jake left, and Micah was given another pat on the shoulder before he was shut out of the room, hugging his arms around himself as he gave into his sobs once more, tempted to just curl up by the door in a heap. But he forced himself to backtrack, finding a wide, comfortable sofa in the living room where he tucked himself in a miserable ball, and cried his heart out.

“Elijah…” He coughed around his tears, burying his face in the back of the couch as he clenched his teeth. He’d seen his best friend bloody and bruised before, but never like this. If he hadn’t called them for help… if he’d stayed out in the cold for much longer…  
“Stop.” Micah pleaded with himself, his hands lifting to clutch at his head, as if he could squeeze away all the bad thoughts and the fear. “He’s going to b-be okay. He h-has to be…”

-

“So, that’s Micah?” Mary said softly, coming back to the bedside after closing the door. Elijah nodded feebly, his breath growing shallower. The room was spinning, and he was swimming in a red haze of pain and vertigo. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet. He flinched when she put a gentle hand on his back, her fingers gripping the edge of the fabric of what was once his sweater after she pushed the bedsheet aside.

“He seems like a good boy. I’ll have to go quickly, but you need to hold as still as possible, sweetheart. This is going to be very painful, but the sooner I can get to your back, the sooner we can get you cleaned up.”  
“Mhm.”  
“Ready? One, two…”

Elijah would have screamed if the searing agony that crashed over him had left him with enough breath to do so. He convulsed, then his stomach rebelled and he retched, heaving a stream of spittle and bile into a trashcan that Mary grabbed from the corner and shoved under his chin just in time. He coughed once, then passed out.

He came to just a few minutes later, blinking heavily at the darkness that coated his vision, tempted to raise a hand and claw at his eyes in a desperate bid to tear it away. A numbness was settling over him, different from the numbness of the cold, and when he shifted slightly, he felt the tug of a needle in the vein of his arm. Something to help with the pain then, but not enough of it to make him sleep. He was sure Mary had questions…

She was working over his wounds, and he could feel the press of her fingers like iron spikes against his raw flesh.  
“Back now?” Mary asked gently, reaching over and combing her fingers softly through his hair, and he struggled not to give into the lure of her kindness. “You’ve got two broken ribs, love. There’s not enough intact skin for me to stitch most of this. I’m putting down a light rejuvenation coating, but it will still have to heal mostly on it’s own. I’ll seal the rest of it with a dermal glue.”

He nodded again, waiting for the inevitable. She waited until she was laying bandages down before she began.  
“What were you punished for?”

Elijah blinked, swallowing with difficulty. The inside of his mouth felt dry. “The girl… Sasha. Her family was threatened. I… stepped in.”  
“Spending favors you couldn’t pay back?”  
“I’m going to p-pay them back. I’ve just… taken longer th-than Tenner wanted.”  
“I see. And how did you meet Sasha?”  
“Micah. They’re d-dating. Sasha and I are friends now, too.”

Mary took a deep breath and slid a warm saline line into the crook of his other arm. He twitched at the prick of the needle.  
“We’ve talked about this, sweetheart. All these attachments will only distract you from the goal at hand. If you want to get your hands on Myra someday, you must put your connections and assets above all else.”  
“N-no.”

Mary froze, her hand stilling on his back. Her lips tightened for the briefest of moments before she questioned him, gently, sweetly.  
“No?” Her hand stroked his hair again.  
“I w-won’t. I can’t. I’m not going to hate Myra m-more than I love Micah. Not ever.”  
“This isn’t about love and hate, darling.” Mary leaned down and kissed his forehead. “This is about war. To succeed, sometimes you’ll have to give up the things you want, in order to keep an eye on the bigger picture. And do you honestly think these friends you love so much can live peacefully, happily, in a world where Myra walks free? As long as she lives, as long as her power holds, no one can truly be safe. You’re saving your friends by fighting the battles that they never could. As long as you stay focused on what’s ahead.”

Elijah shivered. Every inch of his body felt leaden. He burned with pain. He couldn’t give in. He mustn’t.  
“I can’t t-turn my back on them now.”

Mary sighed. “I really did worry about this, you know. I knew it was a risk, sending you into college like this, even for the extra outlet it would bring. I know it hurts, the idea of giving them up, my love. I’m sorry you’ve fallen into this position. You’ve got such a big heart… I always worried the temptation would be too much.”  
“I c-can still do what I have to do. I won’t fail. But I can’t ab-bandon them… they mean everything to me. Killing Myra because she took everything from me in the past won’t mean anything if I lose the ability to love the ones I have now…”

Mary patted his hand tenderly.  
“Oh El… do you really think that these friends of yours will stay safe, if they’re associated with _you?_ ”

Elijah choked on a sob, coughing, tears spilling down his cheeks. Mary grabbed a warm, damp cloth and wiped them away, brushing his forehead with her fingertips.

“Every moment you spend in their company will only intensify any targets placed on their heads. You can only double back on your tracks so many times, love, before someone learns your pattern and figures out the weakest links in your chain. If you cling to these people now, they might only get ripped from your hands in a way that you could never protect them from. I know you love them… but I also know you’re strong enough to do the right thing.”

Mary set the cloth aside and pulled the sheet and comforter up to his waist, tucked them in. The fire on his back had dulled to a low smolder. His skin felt tight and sticky with the bandages covering the wounds, but it was a relief for them to no longer be exposed to the open air. Mary removed the saline, his veins, hands, and feet having warmed back to a safe temperature. She left the medicine line in, to ease the pain of the fractures and wounds.

“I’ll let Micah in now, and he can tell you goodnight.” She said softly, and stood by him for a moment, running her gentle fingers through his hair over and over again.

Every loving touch was salt in his wounds. He begged himself not to give in, not to relax under her touch, because he couldn’t bear the feeling that if he did, he was saying _yes_ , he was _agreeing_ , he was promising to leave Micah behind. How could he accept her care, still valiantly defying her, still clinging to his love for his best friend, and yet… how could he deny… that what she was saying held truth?

Elijah shivered under Mary’s hand and she looked down at him fondly. “I love you, Sweetheart.”  
Her fingers worked out a tangle in his hair and tucked the strand behind his ear. It was so tender, so soft. He had so little left… it was so hard to fight…  
She was waiting. She was waiting.

Elijah closed his eyes, his head sunk further into the pillow, and her hand cradled his cheek as he gave in.  
“I l-love you too, Mary…”

-

It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but Elijah clung to consciousness until he heard the quiet creak of the door, of Mary leaving the room and speaking softly to someone outside. Then he heard the quiet thumping of uncertain feet across the floor, and he pried his eyes open to see Micah, standing in the doorway.

His best friend came closer when he saw him awake, pacing over to stand next to the bedside and look down at him, tears streaming from his puffy, swollen eyes, his face a mess, stuttered breaths on his lips.  
“You’re… going to dehydrate y-yourself, Micah…” Elijah mumbled softly. 

“F-fuck you.” Micah whimpered, pressing his hands over his face and smearing away snot and tears. “You l-look like shit. Even with all that fucking gauze. How the fuck did you get so badly hurt without your clothes on?”

Elijah took a deep breath, willing himself not to flinch at the twinges in his chest. “Th-there’s a certain hierarchy in the gangs. I went against some people in authority, and was g-given a punishment. Thirty strikes with a crowbar to the back.”

He heard Micah catch his breath, and held out his hand. His best friend wove his fingers with his immediately and held on for dear life.  
“What the fuck d-did you _do_ , for them to do something l-like that?”  
“I broke the rules of my gang in order to s-save a family who was wrongly targeted by another gang’s members. Altruism is rather l-looked down on, at street level.”

Micah didn’t say anything else for while. When he did, he asked a question.  
“C-can I sleep with you?”  
“I can’t m-move very well. You’ll have to climb over m-me.”  
“That’s fucking f-fine with me.”

Elijah watched as Micah pulled off his shoes and set them aside, shedding his coat next and tossing it on the floor. With immense care, his best friend eased over his legs as he climbed up on the bed, then stretched out in the empty space between Elijah and the wall, sniffling, swallowing hard against his tears.

“I’m scared I’m gonna start you bleeding again if I touch you anywhere.” His best friend groused, then reach out with one hand, laying his palm against Elijah’s cheek. His thumb stroked over his cheekbone softly, then he closed his eyes and sighed. Elijah counted his breaths until he was sure that Micah was sound asleep, then he laid his hand gently over his best friend’s fingers and let his eyes fall shut.

_Stop it. Stop it. Don’t take._ **_Don’t take_ ** _. You do not want. You do not need._

_Everything you do only takes more from him. You dragged him into caring about you, now you’re just going to hurt him by leaving him behind. And if you stay, his life is on the line! It’s your own fault! You have no one to blame but yourself!_

_Please. Just… let me hold his hand. Just for tonight. Please just… let me have this one thing… he gave his hand to me, I didn’t take it… I didn’t take…_

_Everything you do hurts him! You show your weakness knowing it will get you sympathy! You manipulate his love for you, just to get what you want! You’re not supposed to_ **_want!_ **

_Please I… I’m not… I didn’t take… I didn’t take it. I promise, I promise…_

_Please just let me… hold his hand… just for tonight._

_Just let me hold his hand…  
I’ll keep it safe, I promise._


	14. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha, Jake, and Micah are shaken by Elijah’s desperate situation. Micah stress-eats into a tummy ache, but has a much needed revelation. Sasha is there for him when he needs her!

“Stop it, Jake!” Her hand was on his wrist, his hand on the knob of the door, and she squeezed to emphasize her point, nails digging for purchase on the sleeve of his winter coat, knowing it was futile unless he decided he wanted to listen.

“C’mon fledge, grow up! Mom and Dad can do a lot more than we can!”

“No! Stop it!” Sasha seethed, tearing his loosening grasp from the knob and forcing herself in between him and the door, flaring her wings demandingly. “Just _listen_ to me, okay?” She took a deep breath as he crossed his arms over his chest, one brow raising expectantly. His own primaries twitched with irritation.

“Jake, I swear on Eshvi itself, Elijah is handling this the best he knows how. If you go to Mom and Dad and they call the cops, he’s only going to end up _more_ hurt. They’re not gonna help him.”

“Either they’ll believe us or they _won’t_ , fledge. Make up your mind! When you asked me to lie to them over what you said Elijah said about Rousseth-“ Jacob rolled his eyes. “You said they won’t believe our side of the story. Now you’re saying they _will_ and that’s the problem? Which is it?”

“Because they _won’t_ believe our side of the story!” Sasha threw her hands wide. “You’re _still_ not listening to me! If we go in there and tell them our version of the story, they’re gonna assign their own perceptions to it. ‘The gangs aren’t all bad even though everyone thinks so and our purist bully had someone attack us and someone from the gangs saved us’ is gonna turn into ‘the Ede kids got attacked by a purist bully in the gangs.’ Elijah fights them in the underground like this because he _has_ to! If he could go for help, he would have!”

Jake groaned, reaching up to scratch at the base of one horn, then dragged his hand down his face. “They aren’t stupid, Sasha. Why do you think they wouldn’t be able to accept the truth and we _can?_ ”

“Because we saw it happen. And because we both know Elijah, and knowing him means we know he wouldn’t lie over something like that. Mom and Dad aren’t going to see it that way. They’re just gonna get worried, and want to take action, and they’re not going to hear the truth directly from someone they know they can trust, so they’re not going to believe it. Not because they’re stupid, just… because that’s how _anyone_ is. If… I dunno, if Caleb came to you or something and said that a duskir magician promised him safety as long as he didn’t alert the authorities about the shady spells going down in the broom closet in the clock tower, what would _you_ think? Even if Caleb was _absolutely certain_ that the magician meant him well and was only doing it for his own good? What would you think?”

Jake deflated, wings dipping towards the ground in defeat. “I’d tell him he was nuts and that I was calling the cops so he’d be safe. Even if he socked me for it.”  
“Yeah.” Sasha whispered, biting her lip and looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

The garage was quiet for a long moment, the silence broken only by the sound of the little tree in their small backyard rustling in the wind.

“You do realize that it only makes sense that this ‘family’ Elijah saved to end up like that had to be us, right?”  
“Yeah, this is only the seventh time you’ve said it. Ass.”  
“Sorry. How’s Micah doing?”

Sasha sighed. “He’s beside himself. He checks his messages constantly even though I keep reminding him Elijah’s phone is broken. He’s started trying to hide it from me when he cries. I’ve had to wake him up from at least three nightmares that dragged on way too long.”

Jacob flicked at his sister’s ringlets and she smacked his hand. “How’re you doing, fledge?”  
“Surprisingly okay, I think. I’ve never seen Elijah like that… even when he got sick after he saved us down on the streets, you could tell he was just miserable. Like he had a weird stomach flu almost. But this… Goddesses, his face was so empty. Like he was barely clinging to reality, and I honestly don’t know if it was because he was just in that much pain or he was really on his way out. But I feel almost… numb, I guess, now that he’s not right in front of me. Like the stress is just shutting down until we get more info. I feel like as soon as I see him again I’m gonna want to give him the biggest hug after Micah lets go of him.” Sasha laughed once, grimly. “If he ever does.”

A chuffing sound from the far side of the garage turned both their heads. Rollie, their beloved family dog and locomotive mop of fur padded up, tongue lolling out as he tracked snow in, clearly expecting to get some love.

Sasha softened, kneeling down to give his ears a good scratching, then wrapped her arms around his big fluffy neck and buried her face there. “You keep your mouth shut too, okay?”

Rollie lapped a wet tongue over her ear and she chuckled.  
“I’m going to head back to the shop.” Jacob said quietly behind her. “You’re going back to the condo, right?”  
“Yeah. I’m packing up some of mom’s chicken salad though, for lunch for me and Micah. Feel like he could use a pick-me-up.”  
“Give him a push down the stairs from me.”  
“Oh hush. I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

-

The bus ride felt quiet, even though Sasha was vaguely aware of all the people crammed on board, wrapped in coats and scarves and snow melting on shoulders. She stared numbly at the floor, plastic container of food in her lap. 

She’d always been so sure of herself, what she stood for, what she wanted. She was going to grow up and change the world, _dammit_. She was going to be loud, and unashamed, and beat back the choking cloud of racist ideology from Central City with a stick made from justice and progress. She was passionate but also responsible, rational, sound-minded. She had everything going for her and no reason to hold back.

Then, not so long ago, she’d learned everything was far more _complicated_ than she’d ever dreamed in her life. Lies everywhere. Corruption that went beyond politics and into the very homes of every individual she’d ever met and ever would. Spouting off at one arrogant jerk might make a difference in a small circle, but if it just _happened_ to be someone who had connections, someone she loved might end up dead. And so, so conveniently too. Now she understood why the gangs were so terribly twisted by the media into some terrible evil, whether or not the danger was real. The real monsters had set up this strawman, a big bad wolf for the citizenry to “fight.” Distracting them all. Keeping the suspension of disbelief up just a little more.

When she’d first met Elijah, Micah had whispered to her secretively, a hint of amusement in his voice. _I know his body language seems a little off, but he’s just like that, he’s not trying to be weird, I promise. Just try to be nice to him, he’s kinda sensitive_.

Sensitive. She had almost rolled her eyes. Towering over everyone else in the room, bearded, big and broad and covered with scars - Elijah. But then she’d started noticing what Micah meant. How the boy moved his head before his eyes, kept his hands drawn in close to his chest. Inside buildings, he always stood between them and open doors. Outside, his eyes roamed in every direction constantly.  He had committed to caring for her from day one, from the moment he knew she was important to Micah, he was afraid for her. 

It had been easy to get close to him. Micah loved Elijah and so he tagged along whenever he had time to spare, which wasn’t even that often, but it meant a lot to both of them. He _was_ sensitive. He had soft smiles and big, warm hugs and he always moved like he was afraid of scaring someone. He lifted his fingers before moving his hand, or turned his shoulder in the direction he intended to walk before he took a step. He kept his chin bowed and his eyes down unless someone spoke to him, then he would carefully raise his head before he lifted his gaze. He was the most polar opposite to every gang stereotype Sasha had ever believed, growing up.

 _Goddesses, let him be okay. Let me and Micah see his big, stupid face again soon_. Then she laughed quietly. Stupid? Micah must be rubbing off on her. The first time she’d heard her boyfriend call Elijah something like “dumbass” or maybe it was “asshole,” she couldn’t quite remember — she had jolted with shock, glancing over to both of them, only to find Micah eyeing his best friend smugly, and Elijah fighting a smile. How in the world Micah ever got started on all the affectionately abrasive nicknames, she’d never be sure.

The bus creaked to a halt at her stop and Sasha didn’t move for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. She jumped to her feet and darted out the doors just before they closed, hopping down with a crunch onto the snow-covered sidewalk. The stop was really close to the condos and she barely even had to walk, but she was still shivering a little when she inserted the key in the lock and pushed her way indoors.

“Micah?” She called, flaring her wings to knock the snow from her feathers and dusting flakes out of the dip in her horns before shrugging out of her coat and hanging it up. “I’m back!” If he was asleep, she wouldn’t wake him. He had been such a mess; she was so ready to hear from Elijah so her sunshiny dork could maybe stop being so soggy all the time. Damn, it had been hard to see Micah so down. He was usually the brightest spot in her day. 

She looked up when she heard a shuffling sound and smiled softly at the sight of her boyfriend in the doorway. His hair was ruffled and there were circles under his eyes and he looked pretty glum, but not like he had been crying in the past hour or so, which was a good sign.

“Hey, baby.” Sasha held up the container of chicken salad. “Brought lunch. From mom.” She watched his face fall a little and frowned in confusion.

“Oh— that was really nice of her. I’m not really hungry right now, though.” Micah rubbed a finger behind his ear. “You wanna watch a movie?” Then he smiled faintly, hazel eyes warming with effort. “You look like you’re freezing… would be nice to get all bundled up on the couch?”

Sasha shook her head, turning back to the countertop and pulling out some paper plates. “Sure, we can watch a movie, but _after_ lunch. You need to eat something, babe.” Maybe he was getting worse, even more distraught. Or maybe he’d literally worried himself sick. But something with some veggies and protein would be good for him.

Her boyfriend was quiet for a moment before he walked over, pressing his hands over her double-lobed ears to warm them with a soft sigh of affection. “Suspicions confirmed. You’re a popsicle.” Then he tucked his chin closer and kissed her temple. The scent of something on his breath made her pause for a second. Chocolate? Then, she heard it — a grumble, a sickly, overfull sound that she recognized instantly. He coughed suspiciously and shifted his weight. So _that_ was it!

Before big tests, Micah had a sneaky habit of stuffing himself into stomach aches on junk food over stress, and then not being able to concentrate afterwards. She knew this ahead of time, thankfully, because Elijah had informed her of the habit and asked her to _please monitor Micah’s snacks_ and confiscate them if he started to go overboard. Because he _would_ eat himself sick, he warned. Then Elijah had muttered something about how upsetting it was when Micah was stressed out and sick and Sasha had laughed. Elijah just did not have a tough love button. When his best friend wasn’t feeling well, he wanted him better, and he wanted him better _right away_.

Sasha, however, wasn’t above some light teasing, if Micah wasn’t going to be honest with her about the mess he’d gotten himself into. She wondered how long he’d go before he admitted he had a tummy ache. She’d fuss over him as soon as he did of course, get him a heating pad and cuddle and love on him, but he was going to have to speak up for himself. 

Hiding her smirk, Sasha filled their plates with a fairly respectable serving for each of them, then got out some glasses and poured milk instead of water. Oh, he looked nervous. The boy’s face was an open book, and she wanted to laugh, but that would ruin it.

“So, I talked to Jake, and it took a little arguing, but he’s agreed to secrecy again.” Sasha made conversation as she set the plates on the table and shooed Micah over towards the chair across from her. “He’s gonna be looking forward to seeing El in one piece again too though, I think.” She bit her lip when Micah’s eyes darkened slightly. She had meant that encouragingly. “Also, on the bus ride back, I had some kind of thought about Elijah’s ‘big stupid face’ and realized you’re rubbing off on me.”

“He _does_ have a big stupid face.” Micah agreed emphatically, a smile quirking at his lips despite himself, cheered by the phrase. He sat down and dug his fork into the mound of food without further comment, and she heard his belly grumble very quietly again. He didn’t make the effort to try to hide the sound this time, but it was probably because it would have been too low for a human to hear. Sometimes it was hilarious how often he forgot about her hearing.

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, broken at one point by Micah speaking up and mentioning that he had been checking the school schedule, and classes starting back was going to be delayed by a day or two because of the winter weather. He was halfway through his plate when his tummy gurgled again and something in his face actually twisted a little. Sasha felt a twinge of sympathy but was determined to let Micah voice his own discomfort. She watched him squirm a little out of the corner of her eye and put down his fork.

“You sound pretty hungry still, babe.” She looked down at her own chicken salad so she could pretend she didn’t notice the brief grimace that he couldn’t hide. “Did you want any more?”

“No!” He said a little too quickly, then shifted his weight again. “I mean, uh… I’m fine. I’m not really that hungry. I think I might save the rest for later.” The end of his sentence was punctuated by a poorly-disguised hiccup. Wow, he must be pretty embarrassed to still be holding out on her.

“Well, okay, but finish your milk.” Sasha insisted, forcing back a smirk when she heard him sigh a little. Her boyfriend picked up his almost-full glass and took a big swallow, then a few more. He paused for a breath and then seemed to try to gulp at it more quickly, to get it down and over with. That lasted for all of two seconds before his belly gurgled very audibly and he groaned, setting the glass aside. Sasha didn’t lift her head but she smiled softly to herself. That definitely sounded like a groan of defeat.

Her heart fluttered with gentle, exasperated affection when he pillowed his head on his arms on the table and mumbled something completely unintelligible into them. She got up from her chair, walked around to stand beside him, and put a loving hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t understand you, Micah. Speak up.”  
He turned his head. “I ate a shit ton of junk this morning from your snacks and my tummy’s been killing me all day, and I can’t—“ He hiccuped loudly and whined. “—eat anymore.” He tugged at his curls and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry… I know it was stupid but I… just lost track, and—“ He stifled a small belch. “Fuck. It really hurts.”

“Okay, let’s get you all snuggled up on the couch, baby.” Sasha leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll get the heating pad out. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”  
“Because I’m such a fucking wreck… and I’ve been making you miserable too.”

“Well, that’s not true, but I’m going to wait to argue with you until after your tummy is feeling a bit better.” She patted his back and he shifted with difficulty, cradling his belly with one hand, that she could now see was rounded and full, underneath the heavy press of his sweater.

Micah got settled on the low sofa and she came over with the heated pack after putting the food away, cuddling up close to him and stroking his hair softly as he groaned and whimpered and held the heat to his aching tummy. After hesitating, she reached over and laid her hand over the front of his shirt, rubbing over the sliver of his swollen belly he wasn’t actively clutching, in a way that she hoped was soft and comforting. He gave her a mildly amused look, if a bit pained.

“I’m guessing I’m not as good as El is, huh?”  
“Not even close.” Micah sighed softly, moving his hands a little to give her more room to make wider strokes, draw bigger circles over where it hurt the most. “But… you’re not too bad. Still feels good.”

Sasha laid her cheek on his shoulder as she continued rubbing encouragingly. “So what all did you eat?”  
“Ugh. I’ll—“ Micah burped and covered his mouth. “Shit, sorry. I’ll tell you later because I _really_ don’t wanna think about it right now. It was mostly chips and candy. Some soda.”

“That’s understandable.” She couldn’t help a small giggle. “Now, just to be clear, you’re not making me miserable, Micah. I’m happy to be here for you when you need me.”  
Her boyfriend’s tummy gurgled and he moaned. “It’s just that… I’m always the one everyone’s taking care of. I don’t wanna drag everyone down all the time…”

Should she? Was it really a good idea? Sasha rustled one wing and snuggled a little closer, careful not to jab him with the edge of her horn. “Babe… can I be brutally honest with you for a second?”  
His belly made a sound that she would swear almost sounded nervous. “Oof. Hurry up and tell me because that just sounded scary.”

Sasha took a deep breath. “No one minds taking care of you. We love you. But… when someone else needs care themselves, you can’t just fall apart in front of them. I know you get worried and I know you panic sometimes, but you just _can’t do that_ , love. Especially not with Elijah. If he thinks he’s upsetting you, he will let himself get worse and worse without ever saying a word, because he’s so scared of doing anything to hurt you. I know you love him and I know it was terrifying to see him like that, but he needed you. He _really_ needed you. And I really want to know that… next time he needs you, you’re gonna be able to hold it together for him. You can always come cry it out with me later, or even with Elijah himself once he’s feeling better. But in those moments of crisis, he needs someone to care for him, not to be another burden to carry… and he trusts you more than anyone else in the world.”

Micah was quiet for a long time, and inwardly, Sasha felt herself feel a bit of pride for him that he didn’t immediately burst into tears. His tummy burbled and churned under her fingers and he squirmed every so often with a grimace, but she tried to rub and pat the sensitive swell at his middle she way she’d seen Elijah do it so many times. After nearly twenty minutes of silence, he answered.

“You’re right.”  
She blinked at him, a warm smile spreading over her face.  
“He was—“ Micah’s voice broke. “He was holding all that pain back for me. I know he was. And at first I had this horrible thought that he didn’t trust me enough to really let me help him, and I even got a little mad, and I can’t stop hating myself for thinking that. No one’s ever loved me like Elijah does.” He stopped suddenly, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I mean—“  
“I am absolutely _not_ offended, babe.” She laughed. “Keep going.”

Micah relaxed in relief. “It’s like he’s made me the center of his universe and he exists solely to orbit around me and I don’t… want it to _be_ like that. I love him so much. I _want_ to be there for him.” Micah scrubbed at one eye and his fingers came away a little damp. “Goddesses, I want to take care of him so bad. It fucks me up so bad inside when he’s hurt… and seeing him like _that_ , and feeling so helpless… and then he wouldn’t even let me hold him! I mean, maybe not literally because of his back and all, b-but, his face was so empty, I could feel him staying at this weird fucking emotional arms-length, and I just wanted him to rest and he _wouldn’t_. Because he was worried about _me_.” A little sob broke through. “I never want that to happen again. I don’t want him to feel like… I’m something he has to _pay_ for.”

Sasha put a hand on Micah’s shoulder and leaned over, pressing her lips to his, kissing him deeply and tasting salt and sugar. He made a soft sound of surprise and his fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb brushing over the base of her horn softly.

When they parted, she beamed at him. “I’m so proud of you, Micah.”  
“Yeah.” He sounded dazed. “Thanks, thats… really nice.” She laughed at that, joyfully.

They cuddled closer again and she patted his belly gently. “You feel any better?”  
“Kinda. Still icky. But it doesn’t hurt as much now.” Micah put his hand over hers on his tummy and pressed down a little. It grumbled and she smirked.

“So, just out of curiosity… did you know _anything_ about Mary, before?”  
Her boyfriend shook his head. “Not at all. I never even heard El say her name before. She really seems to love him, I’m kinda confused, actually.”

Sasha frowned. “It’s kind of concerning, to me. There must be something else going on. She wouldn’t be a last resort if they were really as close as they seem, right?”  
Micah considered that. “I guess so… but El is so stubborn about asking for help because he gets so worried he’s imposing on people… maybe it’s just that?”  
“Did you get the chance to talk to her much before you left?”  
“Barely. I asked her if she and Elijah were family and she told me they weren’t related by blood. That she’d just known him for a long time and they work together through the underground for a bunch of that secret war stuff. But she was really hoping to let Elijah get some rest without anyone hanging over him.”

Sasha’s eyelids were beginning to droop. “You’ll have to see if he feels like talking about it when we see him again. I’m really curious about her.”  
“Yeah. Me too.” Micah agreed softly, but distractedly. Sasha knew he wouldn’t be thinking about much else until he got to see Elijah smile again, got wrapped up in his big arms, knew he was safe.

“Maybe we should take a nap before we watch a movie or anything. Your tummy might feel better after some rest?”  
“I hope so.” Her boyfriend complained, and she chuckled, turning her head to kiss his cheek reassuringly.

They dozed off, wrapped up in blankets and holding each other, in the quiet, dark house. Quiet, that is, except for the uncomfortable rumblings of a fairly unhappy belly.

Then again, it would probably be quiet to a human. Avesians just had better ears.


	15. Catch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah and Elijah reunite. Some things need to be talked out (and cried out.) Elijah has been struggling while apart from Micah and receives some much needed care.

_The breeze was strong._

_He took a deep breath and twisted his hand against the rung of the ladder. He was nearly ten stories up, this was plenty far enough, right?  
_ _He could feel the cracked paint of the creaking fire escape beneath his fingers. They were going numb; tears pricked at his eyes as the breeze forced him to squint._

_Straight down, it would be quick._

_Micah took a deep breath and pried one finger loose. Then another. He could see her face in his mind. She’d be angry, probably. But what did he care when as long as he was here, alone, his heart was in pieces and his future meant nothing? Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered and everything hurt. He couldn’t keep running on nothing. He just wanted it to end._

_His foot shifted and dislodged a piece of gravel. He watched it fall, planning to follow it as soon as it hit the concrete below. But then–  
_ _Someone walked out of the door of the building, their dark hair lit by the bright street lamp on the corner. The small brittle piece of stone bounced off their head, and whoever it was flinched violently, spinning around in an instant, hands clenching._

_What the hell was their problem? It was a piece of gravel, not a gunshot. Sure, it might have stung a bit falling from this high up, but not enough to elicit this much of a reaction._

_Now that it had been a few moments though, the person seemed to be calming. They’d not found anything worth their aggression in their immediate surroundings.  
_ _And then, they looked up._

_Micah shivered as he looked directly into a pair of striking blue eyes. Those had to be fake. The young man below him must be a hell of a tool to wear fake contacts in the dead of night. What did he think–_

_“_ **_No!_ ** _” The young man cried out in anguish, reaching up with both hands, his fingers seizing as though he was in intense pain. “What are you doing?!”  
_ _Oh, that’s right. Micah was still hanging from the tenth floor of a building about to jump to his death._

_"Please-!!” Those blue eyes were tormented. The young man below him almost looked like he was having a heart attack. Why the hell did he care so damn much? Micah had never seen the other boy in his life._

_“Don’t fall!! Don’t fall!!”_  
_He was pleading with him._  
_“I don’t want to see you fall!!”_  
_“Then walk away!!” Micah finally shouted back, and the other young man shuddered violently.  
_ _“I can’t!!”_

_Micah rolled his eyes grimly and and loosened another finger. Blue Eyes jolted in shock, in fear, almost seemingly in_ **_pain_ ** _, and stumbled forward as if he thought he could catch him as he came down.  
_ _“Don’t-!! Don’t fall! Please don’t fall!!“_

_Something about the way he was pleading stopped Micah from letting go, at least for the moment._  
_Blue Eyes was gasping for breath as though he’d run a marathon, staring up at him desperately with that wretched look.  
_ _"Please don’t fall!!”_

_“You don’t know my life!!” Micah shouted, rage overtaking him suddenly. “It’s not your fucking decision; just go away so I can get this over with!! I don’t have anything to live for!! Nothing_ **_matters_ ** _anymore!!”_

_“I… I understand…” Blue Eyes wailed brokenly, staring up at him as though tearing his eyes away would doom him to die. “I know…. I know… But please… don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall!! Don’t fall!!”_

_Micah gritted his teeth. Well. He couldn’t really do this to the kid. Whoever this nutcase was would probably have a fucking meltdown if he splattered down onto the pavement now.  
_ _Silence hung between them for several moments. They were both shivering, but it wasn’t even cold outside._

_He tightened his hold and climbed back over the railing. He fidgeted angrily on the way down in the elevator. He’d find another way. He’d find another building, or a bottle of pills, or a cold, hard, gun._

_He could also find another way out of the building. The front door was hardly the only option. But despite himself, Micah found himself wrapping his fingers around the handle and pulling the double door wide. Blue Eyes was still standing there, his breathing still labored, his gaze locked on Micah’s face._

_He considered walking away, but would this kid just call the cops on him? Maybe if he said something that made it sound like he’d changed his mind, he would be more likely to be left alone._

_He drew closer, step by step, and suddenly realized… shit. Blue Eyes was_ **_tall_ ** _. He towered over him and Micah was not exactly short himself. Not to mention the other young man was seriously ripped, to put it lightly. Suddenly this guy seemed a lot less like a hysterical kid. Which made what had just almost happened hit home very, very suddenly._

_Feeling strangled, and his eyes stinging in the strong breeze or maybe from his broken heart, Micah opened his mouth to tell the guy he was fine, and he was going to go home now. But he never got the chance._

_Blue Eyes huffed out a breathless gasp and suddenly wrapped him in an embrace with such strength, and gentleness, and desperation, that Micah thought he might not ever get the chance to breathe again_ —

_SLAM_

Micah yelped loudly, jolting backwards and almost falling out of his chair, scrambling for a handhold as he looked up into Jordan’s pointed gaze. His classmate had just slammed a textbook on the desk in front of him.

“Jordan! What the absolute _fuck!_ Holy _fucking shit_ _-!_ ”  
“Sorry, but I said your name three times and you didn’t answer. Decided I was going to have to wake the dead to get your attention.”  
“Holy sssssshit.”  
“Catch your breath or whatever.” Jordan claimed the seat next to him and propped their chin in their hand as they watched him calmly. “So what had you so deep in thought?”

Micah clutched at his chest as he wheezed a little, willing his heartbeat to stop jumping around so much. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed deeply, a little sadly.  
“Was actually thinking about… when Elijah and I met the first time.” 

Jordan was quiet for a moment, arranging their notebook in front of them and getting out a pen. Micah glumly did the same, pushing the textbook back over and focusing blearily on the front of the classroom, where the professor was still setting up for lecture. He was so heartsore, he hadn’t seen Elijah in almost a month. School had started back nearly a week and a half ago, and he hadn’t heard a word from his best friend. He missed him so much.

“He doesn’t really have the flu, does he?” Jordan didn’t even look up from their paper where they were writing the date and the lecture header. Their question was almost rhetorical; they sounded very certain. Micah and Sasha had, in fact, told the others a lie regarding Elijah’s absence. There hadn’t been much else they could do…

But Micah abruptly didn’t care about secrecy, or giving excuses for appearance’s sake. He tried to blink tears away. “No. He doesn’t.”  
“He wasn’t… _shot_ or anything, was he?”

Micah took a deep breath that hurt a little. “No, he wasn’t shot. He was beaten up real bad. With a crowbar. There was a lot of blood and he… could have died from hypothermia. Probably _should_ have. Because I hate myself apparently, I was trying to look up what temperatures the human body can take and for how long and with the state he was in, he shouldn’t have possibly been able to—“

“Micah.” Jordan waved a hand in front of his face. “Stop it. You’re crying. You’re just going to upset yourself even more. Is he all right?”  
Micah scrubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Last I saw him, he was. Warm and patched up, at least.”  
“Last you saw him? He’s not with you?”  
“No, he’s with a friend of his. Older avesian lady with underground connections. She has a room in her house set up like a hospital and she’s taking care of him. I haven’t heard from him in almost a month…”

“Oh.” Jordan said, and there was deep understanding suddenly, in that one word. “I see. I got it. You’ll hear from him soon, I’m sure. Try not to let yourself stew over it so much, bud.”

“Good advice.” Micah whispered, crossing his arms on the desk in front of him and burying his face in them. “Real good advice.” He heard Jordan sigh sympathetically.

There was a pause, then Micah felt a hand settle reassuringly on his shoulder and pat once or twice. The rareness of such a gesture from Jordan startled him into feeling a little better, momentarily at least. He lifted his head again and gave his friend a tearstained smile and Jordan smiled softly in return. They both turned back to their notebooks and waited for class to start.

_“Don’t fall.”_

Micah had never asked Elijah about it, but he wondered, he would always wonder, why his best friend had been so insistent on that choice of wording. He had begged him not to fall. He hadn’t said “don’t jump,” that night. He had said “don’t fall.” 

Really, that was why it had gotten his attention. It’s what had kept him from going through with it, in the end. It was such a strange distinction, one that he was certain that no one else would have made. Of course, since then, he’d come to learn that Elijah did actually have a paralyzing fear of heights. So much so that he couldn’t look out of a top-floor window without getting a little shaky, or join the others for a ride on the ferris wheel at the fair. 

Class absolutely dragged. Of course, every day of the last month had dragged, with every moment feeling like an eternity. But then again, Micah also had a strange sense of looking back and feeling like everything had gone by in an instant, in hindsight. It was utterly exhausting, feeling stretched between two nonsensical points.

But he gritted his teeth, wrote down important (or what he hoped was important) details about fluid mechanics, made notes on which textbook pages to reference, and tried to keep eyes on the professor up front instead of watching the clock as each laborious second ticked by.

Finally, the sounds of closing notebooks and shuffling backpacks began to fill the lecture hall, and he exchanged another grateful look with Jordan before gathering his things and standing from his desk, raising his head to look out over the stream of exiting students for a place he could shoulder into the crowd and move towards the doors.

And as he did so, he froze in place, breath catching in his throat, as he locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.  
Elijah, across the room, looked back impassively for a few seconds, then turned away and left the class, quicker than Micah could ever hope to chase after him.

-

“He’s _avoiding_ me!” Micah shouted, disbelief and fury so plain in his words that he could swear both Sasha and Jordan flinched involuntarily. “He fucking left me to stress over him all this time and didn’t even tell me that he’s _better!_ He attended the **_same fucking class with me_** and walked out like he didn’t even see me!!”

“I’m sure he has a reason.” Jordan said slowly, after a pause as Micah huffed and clenched his hands. “Or at least, he has what he thinks is a reason.”  
“Probably the latter.” Sasha agreed dryly, twirling a ringlet of her hair around her finger in contemplation. “You can always just stake out where you know his next class is with you and pounce on him then.”  
“Fuck that.” Micah snarled. “Our next class together is five days from now. I’m going to his apartment.”

Jordan looked over in confusion as Sasha’s eyes widened and she took a deep breath. “What’s the matter?”  
The girl looked hesitant for a moment before shaking her head. “Elijah’s apartment is over on Matorall avenue.”  
“I see.” Jordan made the connection instantly. “Micah, it’s not a good idea to risk your neck over—“

“Wait.” Sasha stopped them, lifting a hand uncertainly as she looked over at her boyfriend. “Let me call Jake. He and I can give you a ride, so you don’t have to walk most of it on foot, and I’ll lend you my pepper spray just in case. Come to think of it, maybe you should look into getting your own pepper spray or something, for in the future.”

Micah suddenly deflated, burying his face in his hands with a small sob, collapsing into Sasha’s hold when she jumped up from where she was sitting next to Jordan to hug him.

“You think I’ll need it, in the future?” He whispered, and she squeezed him harder and thumped him on the back.  
“Don’t even think like that.” She told him sternly. “Of course you will.”

Jake, blessedly, wasn’t too tied up at work and was able to sign out early, pulling the truck around to a corner of campus to pick up Micah and Sasha. Jordan informed them in no uncertain terms that Cole and Macy also knew what was going on, and next time, just to give it to everyone straight rather than try to give palatable excuses. The two of them sheepishly agreed and thanked them.

Micah gave Jake instructions on where to make turns, his heart thumping nervously in his chest the closer they got to Elijah’s apartment. What if his best friend wasn’t there? What if he was out on the streets again, or worse, what if he _was_ there and wouldn’t answer the door? Then he told himself to stop stressing, because if for any reason he couldn’t get ahold of him now, he’d just do as Sasha suggested earlier, and corner him in one of their classes together. He’d have it out with him in front of the entire damn student body if he had to.

Eventually, the streets grew too narrow for Jacob’s truck, despite his best efforts, and Micah jumped down after kissing Sasha in thanks, to run the last half of a block on foot, pepper spray clutched warily in one hand.

When he reached Elijah’s door, he slotted his key into the lock, but his hopes crashed when, of course, the various chains and deadbolts on the other side inhibited him. At least that meant Elijah was home.

He pocketed the key again and knocked loudly, waited, then banged more heavily with his whole fist, raising his voice loud enough for his best friend to hear, hoping it wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention from the surrounding streets.

“ _Elijah!_ It’s me! Open the door, please!” There was another long pause, and Micah was about ready to turn around and run back to the truck, when he heard the clicks and snags of locks being turned and latches being undone. 

The door opened, and for a split second, Elijah looked out at him with a depthless longing that erased the tirade building up behind Micah’s lips. His best friend reached out, his hand open and extended, exactly the same way he’d done a hundred times when he was going to sweep him into a hug, and then, just before Micah could rush forward and bury himself in Elijah’s arms, his best friend stopped. His expression closed off and he slid his hand to the side, grasping the doorframe and leaning against it, as if that was what he intended to do all along. 

“Micah.” Elijah said. His voice was empty. “You should not be here.”  
Micah’s anger jumped to the surface again. “Fuck that. Fuck you. I got a ride from Sasha and Jake and I’ve got pepper spray in case somebody tried to jump me. I’ll use it on you if you don’t let me in.”  
Elijah looked at him tiredly. “No. You won’t.”

Micah took a moment to look Elijah over more carefully. His best friend really _did_ seem to be leaning on the doorframe now, more heavily and with more purpose, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His face was pale, beneath that. He was trembling slightly where he stood.

“Okay, I won’t. But I’ll push you out of the way if I have to. You look like you’re about to fall over, anyways.” Goddesses, what were they _doing?_ Where was his _hug_ , dammit? Why’d he have to stand here and be the tough one and wait for Elijah to get over himself?

Elijah didn’t move for a few seconds, and then, without saying anything, he sighed and stood back from the door, waiting for Micah to come in before closing it and redoing all the locks.

“You know, I never thought to ask this before, but why’d you give me a key if it doesn’t actually unlock anything?”

Elijah moved to the center of the room as he answered. “I intended for you to be able to use it if you and I ever did happen to come under attack for any reason, when traversing between here and the bus stop. You would be able to leave the scene and come back here for safety while I resolved the conflict.”

“Oh.” Micah muttered, as Elijah turned around to face him. “That makes sense. Why’s it so fucking dark in here? You sitting around with the lights off?”  
Elijah sighed and stepped over to flick on the kitchen light. It glimmered once, then bathed the room in a fluorescent glow. “I was asleep, Micah.”  
“Oh.”

The two of them stood, gazing at the floor, until Micah took a deep breath and gave Elijah the most furious look he could manage.

“How _dare_ you leave me to worry about you all this time without getting in touch with me? How _could_ you?”  
“This was my first day returning to class.” Elijah answered, in monotone.  
“Yeah, well _clearly_ you weren’t gonna say anything to me in person! Why didn’t you call me? Or fuck, if your phone’s still broken, I dunno, _email_ me?”

Elijah looked up at the ceiling. “I apologize. I did not intend to cause you any undue distress. I had every intention to get in touch with you by phone, after I finished repairs on it, to let you know that we cannot continue to associate. It is for your own safety.”

Micah stared at Elijah, dumbfounded. A small part of him wanted to laugh. Most of him wanted to burst into tears, knowing that almost always undid Elijah’s “stoic” act on the spot, but he forced himself to think. He _knew_ Elijah. Better than anyone. He knew this was an act. And if it was an act, his best friend was trying to hide emotions that he felt would betray whatever he was saying at the moment. More than likely, Elijah wanted the exact opposite of what he was telling him. It was time to put his foot down.

“Well, tough luck El, because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Micah crossed his arms and glared at him. “Where the fuck did this come from?”  
Elijah looked stunned. Then his expression closed off again and he took a deep breath. “The further I move into illicit circles, the more dangerous it is to for you to associate with me. My objectives, also, suffer when I hold back from doing whatever is necessary to accomplish them, when I am preoccupied with other things.”  
“Alright, I’m gonna try to translate from ‘fuckwit’ into something I can better understand.” Micah rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me that I’m gonna get hurt if we stay friends, on top of the fact that I’m holding you back? Is that it?”

Elijah trembled. He didn’t answer. Micah wanted more than anything to drop this entire farce and launch across the space between them to tackle him into a hug and never, ever let go, but he stayed planted.

“If people around you are going to get hurt, why are you even in _college?_ There’s a lot of bystanders on a campus that could get taken out if this so-called danger is lurking around every corner, waiting to hammer you as soon as you let your guard down.”  
Something in his best friend’s expression shifted. “We… did not have this conversation?”  
“Not to my fucking knowledge.”  
“I am pursuing an education in the hopes of eventually being able to build a large organization that can act as a front for illicit activity. It will encompass production of robotic limbs, to be used as prosthetics. I require extensive medical training to do this, as well as connections to the surface level of society, just as much as the underground. With a degree and certification, I will be able to walk the line between both worlds in a manner that will extend my reach much further than any current individual is capable of.”

Micah’s eyes were wide again, this time in astonishment. Something heavy was in those words, something fateful. But he shook his head again and focused back on the two of them, for now, because in the end, that was more important than anything else.  
“And you’re content to risk anyone around you to accomplish that?”  
“No.” Elijah’s blank expression slipped slightly, showing some discomfort. “No, the risk is very low until I graduate medical school. I will not be engaging in any direct attacks with the enemy until I am away from any schooling institution. Until then, my focus will be gang-based.”  
“Ah. So—“ Micah counted on his fingers. “Six and a half fucking years from now. But you’re saying we have to cut contact _now?_ What the _hell_ , Elijah?”

He watched Elijah’s fingers curl slightly, as though he were attempting to steady his hands. “It is probably for the best, as separating after another six and a half years would likely be even more difficult.”  
Micah’s scowl deepened. “I have an idea, why don’t you decide what I want for _myself_ when we get to that point? Better yet, what do _you_ want? Do you really believe everything you’re saying or is it just for show? Am I really holding you back? Do you even want me around?”

Elijah’s gaze grew even more distant. His eyes almost seemed hollow. “I have always enjoyed our time together. But I believe it would be wisest to refrain from dragging you further into these matters than I already have.”  
“Okay, well I don’t care what you think regarding that. That’s _my_ decision. What do you want? Not what you think is ‘best’ or ‘smartest’ or whatever, what do _you_ want?”  
Elijah’s face was empty. “It does not matter what I want.”

“Yes it fucking does. Friendships are two-way streets, you bastard. If you don’t _want_ to be friends with me, then I’m wasting my breath.” Why couldn’t Elijah just say it? Micah knew Elijah didn’t want to give their closeness up. He’d bet his life on it. Why was he making this so _difficult?_

His best friend’s hands tightened again. “It has always been worthwhile to me to be whatever you needed from me. Exerting my desires now, when it might be most important for us to separate peacefully, would be the furthest thing from helpful.”

“Don’t care.” Micah took a step closer, then another, until he forced Elijah’s empty blue eyes to focus on him. “What do you want?”  
“I… it does not matter what I want.”

Micah refused to give up. “I said I don’t care what you think about it. Just lay it out for me and I’ll decide if it matters or not.”  
Elijah’s gaze flitted over to the door, and Micah could swear he saw a brief hint of panic. “You should go, Micah.”  
“Not until you answer my fucking question, asshole. What do you want?”

“ _I’m not supposed to_ ** _want!_** ” Elijah exploded, his hands flying wide, and the force of the anguish in his words froze Micah where he stood. “That’s not what I’m _here_ for, I’m not _supposed to_ ** _want!_** I’m not here to _take_ from you, I’m not here to steal and manipulate and take from you until there’s _nothing left_ , I—”

Elijah stumbled in place, then collapsed, his knees hitting the floor with a thud, his hands raising to cover his face as he broke into a wretched sob, and Micah leapt forward, crashing to the carpet beside him and pulling his best friend into a hug, his head cradled against his shoulder, his own tears threatening to fall and then they did, when Elijah spoke up again in a broken, pleading voice.

“I’m not _real_ , Micah.” Elijah cried helplessly, still resisting, still stiff in his hold. “I’m not real. I’m not here to want. I’m not supposed to want. I’m not real. I’m not real.”

Micah didn’t know what to say. Maybe it would be easier if Elijah was saying those things aimlessly, like he was waiting for reassurance, but he didn’t even sound like he _was_. It sounded almost as if he were saying, “ _You have to believe me_ ,” begging to be listened to. Micah was too stunned to make sense of it.

But he clutched Elijah as closely as he could with the other boy still unyielding beneath his touch, then suddenly he felt something warm and wet on the hand he had pressed to Elijah’s back. He lifted his wrist and looked at his fingers and saw the crimson stain of blood.

“Fuck. Oh fuck. El, get up. Right fucking now. We have to get you in bed.”

Elijah shook and trembled in his hold, but climbed back to his feet with difficulty, letting Micah lead him into the bedroom, never even opening his eyes. He collapsed onto the mattress and curled into a ball, and Micah glanced over his back. It didn’t look as bad as he’d feared, just a few small places on his shirt were marked with blood, nothing seemed to be gushing or anything. And he found, abruptly, that he just could not walk away and leave Elijah looking like that. Not even for the medical kit.

Micah removed his coat for the first time since barging into the apartment, before he moved around to the other side of the bed and crawled up next to his best friend, forcibly prying at his arms until he could bury himself in his familiar place against Elijah’s chest, under his chin. That seemed to be the final straw. The floodgates opened, and Elijah cried like Micah had never heard anyone cry in his life.

He held him so closely, so tightly, that Micah barely knew where his heartbeat ended and Elijah’s began, and his best friend’s arms were wound around his back, around his waist, his cheek buried in his curls and his entire body wracked with gasping, rending sobs. Micah just laid as quietly as possible, tears trickling down his own cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound. After a while, he reached up with one hand and combed gently through Elijah’s hair, over and over. At first it seemed to be calming him down, then Micah whispered “It’s okay, El,” and that set him crying harder again. Micah didn’t stop, though. He kept stroking, and whispering, over and over, “It’s okay, El. It’s okay.”

What seemed like an eternity later, Elijah had finally settled, no longer crying but his breathing still catching every so often. Micah’s hand was still over his hair then, just resting there to comfort him, until ever so slowly, he forced himself to sit up. Elijah clung to him like a child.  
“Sorry, fuckface. I’ll cuddle with you some more in a sec. Let me look at your back first, okay?”

Elijah gave a slow nod, loosening his hold, and Micah glanced over his red face and swollen eyes with a sharp feeling in his chest, before he gingerly climbed over his best friend’s still form and grasped the hem of his shirt carefully.

As he pulled the garment up, the small, bleeding places clung to the fabric, sticking a little before peeling away, and Elijah gave a tiny hiss of what sounded like pain. Micah reached over and patted his leg reassuringly, assessing the damage.

Elijah’s back looked worlds better than the last time he’d seen it. The deepest welts and cuts were the ones that had torn open slightly again, but they were far smaller than when they had been fresh, and most of the shallower wounds were closed completely, new pink scar tissue having grown back over them. The bruising had almost entirely vanished, with the worst of it faded to yellow patches and a bit of peeling skin.

“I’m gonna get the medical kit and put some bandages on you.” Micah laughed once, more to lighten the mood than anything, and patted Elijah again carefully before sliding off the bed. He retrieved the kit from under the sink, came back and clumsily stuck gauze patches over the bleeding places before taping them down. He put the rest of it away and snuggled back into Elijah’s arms, smiling sadly when his best friend gave a stuttered sigh and clung to him tightly again. A few moments passed.

“Micah?” Elijah’s voice broke. “I… don’t want to lose you…”  
“You won’t. You’re pretty stuck with me by this point. I’m not going anywhere.”  
Elijah made a small, forlorn little sound. “I’m sorry.”  
“For what?”  
“In advance. For everything that might happen because I couldn’t—“  
“Okay, that’s my cue to tell you to shut up. Why don’t you fucking apologize to me for something you _actually_ did wrong, like, I dunno, leaving me _hanging_ for weeks not knowing how you were doing.”  
Elijah coughed a little, sniffed. “I’m sorry I stayed out of touch for so long…”  
“I guess I’ll have to forgive you.” Micah snipped lightly, then frowned. “You’re squirming a lot. Does your back really hurt? It didn’t look all that bad.”  
Elijah shifted again and sighed. “Not that.”

Micah waited, but when no more information was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, so what is it then?”  
Elijah fidgeted slightly. “Um… well…”  
“Come on, man, things have been difficult enough today. Just spit it out.”  
His best friend sighed deeply, then tightened his hold. “It’s my stomach.”  
“It hurts?”  
“Mhm.”

Micah reached for Elijah’s stomach, smoothing his hand over the front of his shirt. His best friend’s abdomen was strangely sunken-in. Micah blinked, then his eyes narrowed angrily.  
“When’s the last time you ate something?”  
Elijah sniffed nervously. “…Last night.”  
“And what was it?”  
“Protein bar.”  
“When was the last time you ate before that?”

Silence.

“Elijah, you absolute fuck, _answer_ me.”  
“Saturday.”  
Micah’s jaw dropped.  
“It’s _Thursday!_ ”  
“Mmm.”  
“Elijah, you can’t just not _eat_ for four days! No wonder you’re shaking! I thought it was fucking blood loss or something! Why haven’t you been _eating?_ ”

Elijah’s hand rose, and he played with Micah’s curls, ignoring his best friend’s snort of disbelief. “I was… having difficulty with the concept that I needed to separate from you, and my stomach started hurting and I did not feel up to eating.”  
“You stressed yourself into a tummy ache and then made it worse by not putting food in your fucking face for four days straight?”  
“I… suppose that is accurate, yes.”

Micah groaned and shrugged out of Elijah’s hold, ignoring his best friend’s startled whimper. “I’m gonna microwave some soup and you’re going to _eat_ it. We’ll get you taken care of afterwards if it still hurts, but you need some food in your body or so help me, Goddesses. You’re still recovering from a _brutal beating_ , El. You can’t _do_ things like this!”  
“I’m sorry.” Elijah said, so quietly, and Micah caved and leaned back over to kiss his best friend’s forehead with an air of exasperation.  
“Good. Stay put.”

Micah dug around in Elijah’s cupboard until he unearthed a can of chicken soup, pouring it’s contents into a bowl with deep sides that he felt reasonably confident wouldn’t spill if he brought it to Elijah in bed. He’d learned his lesson from the first time he’d made Elijah eat after starving for several days, and knew the lighter fare would be easier on his stomach, but that it would probably still make him feel somewhat sick. He’d cuddle him and rub his tummy of course, but for now, his best friend just needed _some_ form of nutrition.

He carried the warm bowl with a spoon and a glass of water back into the bedroom, smirking with satisfaction when he saw Elijah propped up against the wall, looking nervous.

“Right. You take this—“ Micah handed him the bowl and set the glass down on the nightstand, climbing back into the bed next to him and winding his arms around his waist, hands pressing over his stomach gently. “And I’ll be right here. Try to finish it, if you can.”

Micah felt Elijah take a deep breath, then his best friend picked up the spoon, tilting the bowl slightly first to sip at the broth. He lifted a spoonful of noodles and bits of chicken after a moment, blowing on it, before putting it past his lips. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then filled the spoon again.

Just a quarter through the bowl, Micah started feeling faint rumbles and twinges in Elijah’s tummy, so he started rubbing carefully - warm circles over the flat plane of his best friend’s abdomen. Elijah hummed slightly but it sounded like a noise of pain and not one of comfort, and Micah bit his lip in sympathy. 

Halfway through, Elijah shifted next to him with what felt like a sharp cramp against Micah’s palms and groaned quietly, lowering the bowl and whimpering when his friend pressed in further with his fingertips.

“Aw, geez, already?” Micah sighed heavily, feeling over the soft curve that had just begun to show a little from under Elijah’s ribs. His best friend’s stomach burbled quietly and Micah pressed in with one side of his hand over what felt like an air pocket. He was rewarded when Elijah swiftly raised a hand to cover a deep belch, before groaning again.

“You’re such a dumbass. I bet your tummy’s all filled with air from being empty for so long.”  
Elijah sighed, leaning back a little more and putting one arm around Micah next to him, resting his chin on his head. “You sound like you have been paying attention in class.”  
“If that’s a compliment it’s a shitty one. This isn’t a conversation, fuckwit. I’m commenting on how stupid you are.”  
Elijah blinked morosely. “You also sound very angry with me.”

Micah hefted a sigh of his own. Maybe he was being a little harsher than usual. “Sorry. I kinda am, but it’s because I love you, you know that, right? I can’t _stand_ seeing you hurt, El. It fucks me up inside. And so does… hearing you say stuff like… you don’t matter, or that you’re not real, or that you’re not supposed to want anything. Where does all of that come from? Where did you get stupid ideas like that?”  
Elijah’s hand twitched against Micah’s back. “Everything I have ever wanted has come at a cost to someone I loved. And… and lost.”

Micah’s hands stilled for a moment as a chill washed over him. There was something so desolate in Elijah’s voice. He’d never heard anything like it.  
“So, you feel like you’re draining everyone dry all the time? Just by… existing? Being here? Having needs?”

Elijah’s tummy gurgled and Micah resumed massaging carefully with another sympathetic frown. Elijah hiccuped once before answering.  
“I try not to have needs.”  
“Well, that’s the worst fucking idea in the world, because you can’t do that forever. Even _you_ will run yourself into the ground eventually.”  
“I know. I’ve never… cared.”  
“Well, I do. I fucking care. And if you care about me, you’re gonna start caring about yourself, because you’re the most important person in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. So if you died over some shitty, preventable reason, I’d never forgive you, and I’d never forgive myself either.”

Elijah was quiet for a long time, before he said in a small voice, “You’re the most important person in my life, too. You’re the only one I’ve had since… since Bri…” He swallowed hard.  
“Shit. Are you feeling sick?”  
“I… yes.”  
“Don’t throw up, you need that.” Micah’s hands roamed a little over Elijah’s belly, and he could swear he could feel the twinges and cramps of his friend’s body trying to reject what little food it had seen in days. “Put the bowl down if you’re not going to eat any more.”

Slowly, Elijah shifted so he could set the dish down over on the nightstand, then he settled back into his best friend’s hold again. Micah sat up, facing Elijah’s front more fully so he could figure out a little better where to press and rub. He built up a circular pattern again, breaking from it occasionally to massage the tense muscles on Elijah’s sides, under his ribcage. Elijah laid still, with his eyes closed, until suddenly he raised a hand to his mouth again, burping quietly into a fist, hiccuping afterwards.

“Don’t try to hold anything in, dumbass. Maybe if we can get all the air out of your stomach, you can eat a little more.” Micah waited until he’d gotten a reluctant nod before he let his pointed gaze drop.

He pressed down gently over the softest part of Elijah’s stomach, in the center above his navel, then smoothed a palm down his side, making little circles with his whole hand as he went down. He drew his hand over his lower belly lightly, more as a comfort than anything else, before moving back up to repeat the pattern. If he found a pocket of air, he pressed in, dislodging burps and hiccups, then rubbed the places he pushed on very soothingly, almost affectionately. Slowly, Elijah’s stomach seemed to settle, making less noise over time, his muscles becoming less tense with pain.

“You think you can eat any more?”  
“I can… try.”

Micah handed the soup bowl back to Elijah and snuggled close once again, holding onto him warmly as his best friend worked to finish the rest of the meager meal. When he did, sipping the last of the broth down with a grimace, Micah patted his belly gently, then got up after squeezing his hand.

“I’m going to get the hot water bottle, I think it will help you feel a lot better. Then I’ll rub your tummy until you fall asleep, okay? I’m not going to class tomorrow. I just want to stay here with you. I’ve missed you so fucking much, you know that, right?”  
Elijah smiled brokenly, reaching up with one hand, scrubbing away what must have been a stray tear. “I’ve missed you, too.”  
“Glad we got that settled.”

When Micah returned with the water bottle, he tucked it over Elijah’s stomach as he slid into the bed next to him again, and his best friend groaned in relief, hands raising to clutch the heat to his aching tummy. Micah began to rub again, back and forth this time, over the stretch of Elijah’s belly he could reach that wasn’t covered by the heat pack. His friend gave small, restrained burps every now and again, relaxing a little further after each one.   
“El?”  
“Hmm?”  
“When you say I’m the only one you have… I guess I’m a little confused— what about Mary?”

Micah felt Elijah stiffen, and looked up into his face bewilderedly.

“I am, of course, very thankful for everything Mary has done for me. But she is highly integrated into the illicit side of society, and wields a respectable amount of power, thus. We do not have frequent contact unless I am in dire need of assistance.”  
“How long have you known each other? She talks to you almost like you’re her kid.”  
“We did meet when I was only a child. I believe I was about eight.”  
“ _Eight?_ You started in the gangs when you were _eight?_ ”  
“ _No._ ” Elijah coughed, almost sounding amused. “No, I entered the gangs when I was fourteen. I did not start working with her directly until I was seventeen, but she and I met when I was eight because she found me after I fell.”

There was a pause as that sunk in, and the chill was back in Micah’s veins. He shivered.  
“You… fell? She _found_ you? What does that mean?”  
“I fell from a high footbridge and was badly injured. Both legs broken… a concussion as well if I am remembering correctly. I was alone and helpless for a very long time, and was informed later that it was a very close call, as far as my life was concerned. Mary lived in the neighborhood where I grew up, and she found me lying there, and took me to the hospital and called my family.”

Micah began to cry, apparently having exhausted his rationality for the day, and clung to Elijah fiercely. “That must have been _hell_ … is that why… you… you’re so afraid of heights?”  
“I imagine so. It was a very long time ago but I… I was so young, I did not understand that the pain would not last forever. After a while, I was not even thinking clearly any more. I just… believed I would always be there, alone, hurting so much… that it would never end.”

It was the most open Micah had ever heard his best friend sound. He realized Elijah was crying again, but he decided not to comment on it.

“When I… saw you, standing on top of that building, Micah, I was not thinking clearly then either. I saw you, about to fall, and imagined you in the same place I was, that day when I was eight, and I could not… _bear_ to let it happen to anyone else. The pain was… indescribable. I called for help so many times and no one came. It was terrifying to think that someone else, _anyone_ else, would go through that, and I… I had to stop you. I couldn’t… let you fall.”

Micah buried his face further into his best friend’s chest. “I’m glad you didn’t.”  
He felt Elijah’s shoulders shake once. His voice broke when he answered. “Me too.”

Micah fluffed his friend’s beard a little, to lighten the mood, dreading the answer to his next question. “Your family… they didn’t notice you missing before Mary got in touch with them? Seems like they should have been raking the entire subdivision.”  
Elijah was quiet. Maybe he was just deciding what to say, but Micah prompted again.  
“El… what happened to your parents? Why did some… random neighbor find you before they did?”

“I… climbed the footbridge because I was looking for them, actually. They had stayed away the night before, and I was hoping I would see them on their way back, so I could go back home and tell my sister not to worry.” Elijah took a deep breath. “Micah… what do you know about Myra?”  
“The Third Goddess? I dunno, she’s a newborn, compared to the other two. That’s what everyone says, anyways. She’s got a church on practically every corner. Her priests are kinda fucking creepy, if you ask me.”

Elijah’s shaking hand combed through his curls. “Myra is not what everyone thinks she is. She is not a Goddess, for one thing. She is… the reason I am doing all of this, to fight. She is the ‘enemy.’”  
Micah turned his head to blink up at his best friend in disbelief. “No fucking way.”  
“Yes.”  
“But… she’s everywhere!”  
“That is, in fact, the main problem.”  
“You think you can take her down?”

“I will. She _murdered my little sister_.” Elijah’s voice dropped to a growl, and the words were so cold, so ferocious, Micah shrank back a little, imagining he could see a chill fog drifting from his best friend’s lips. “It will take time… maybe even decades. But I intend to slowly tear down her reign from the inside out, no matter how long it takes me. Killing Myra is everything I am. Everything I will ever be. She’s evil. She lies and manipulates to hold power over the city and she murders to silence her opposition. She murdered Mary’s father, also. She poisons her followers, making them suggestible, until they are blindly devoted to her name and image. She… poisoned my parents.”

Elijah sounded broken again now, curling further into Micah’s embrace. “They went to her church… when I was seven and Brielle was three, and never came home, not really. My mother’s health was failing… they were looking for answers. Doctors couldn’t tell them anything… they were hoping something more spiritual would suffice…”

It was too much. Micah wanted to take the question back. He’d been expecting to hear something like… Elijah’s father was a drunkard or that his mother had an affair and it had blown up in their children’s faces. Not this. Not this agony in his best friend’s voice, this helplessness. Micah clung to Elijah as tightly as he could, tried to interject, tried to stop him, _anything_. He didn’t mean to break his heart open like this… but now that the leak had sprung, it seemed the whole dam was coming down.

“For years… my sister and I lived under the same roof with them, but they were never really there, and the further we reached for them, the further they’d slip. When Brielle died, they… forgot us completely. Like we had never even existed…” Elijah gasped a little, then sobbed, clinging to Micah tighter.

It was too much. Micah cried as his best friend did, and held onto him, desperately trying to think of _anything_ to say. He wanted— not to _stop_  this, necessarily, not forever, because he wanted Elijah to be able to talk, freely like this, but at the moment, it was just too much. The emotions were too raw… Elijah was overwrought and sick and just needed _comfort_. What made Elijah happy? Micah’s mind raced. His best friend never seemed to… 

Freshman year. It came back to him suddenly. They’d agreed to work on a project together, for biochemistry, just days after their first encounter. Micah had done nothing but snap and snarl the entire week, and then Elijah had approached him after class with a gentle smile and asked if they could be partners for the project due at the end of the semester. He had been so _kind_.  
They’d decided on something easy but interesting, but needed some materials from the coastline that they couldn’t get within city limits. So they’d taken a trip down to the shore by train the following weekend, and Elijah had never broken his composure, but as soon as they stepped out onto the sand, his entire disposition had changed. He went from being calm and endlessly concerned to some bright, cheerful soul, brimming with joy. Micah still remembered that baffling, boyish delight. He remembered wondering once or twice what he’d do if his classmate suddenly made a break for the surf.

Elijah was still crying.  
“I miss them so much sometimes… I get so scared that I’ll forget what their voices sounded like… when they told us they loved us, what it felt like to hold their hands, but it— it’s been so long, and I— I know it’s… _pointless_ , and I—“

“Let’s go to the beach.” Micah cried suddenly, pressing a tearful kiss to Elijah’s cheek. His best friend froze. The bursting tide slowed to a trickle; the sound of despair faded, replaced by confusion.  
“…What?”  
“I mean… you like the beach right? Back when I was still getting used to your stupid face, the happiest I saw you was when we tromped down to the coast to get that horseshoe crab stuff for our project, and you were standing there, with this big dumb smile on your face. Looking out at the waves. Let’s go like… as soon as your back is finished healing up. It’ll be too cold to swim, but we can fuck around in the touristy trap shops and get some really good seafood.”

Elijah didn’t answer for a while, but all Micah could feel was relief. It wasn’t that he wanted to stop Elijah from spilling out, pouring out all those fears and hurts and regrets – but he needed to heal now, not to relive those hurts. Micah could still feel Elijah’s stomach grumbling against his side; the shaking deep in his core that came from going hungry for too long, and all he could think was, _enough_. _Another time_. All he had cared about in the moment was that hopelessness in his best friend’s voice, that went deeper than he’d ever heard it before…

“Two weeks.”  
“Come again?”  
Elijah sniffed, shuddering. “Two weeks… I have two broken ribs and they should be fully healed in another two weeks. The welts should be closed by then, as well.”  
“Hold the fucking phone. You have _two broken ribs?_ Am I like… holding you too tight or anything??”  
“No, of course not.”  
“Geez, okay then. Two weeks. Sounds good to me.”

Elijah shifted slightly, raising his chin and kissing Micah’s forehead softly. “Thank you…”  
“You could have always suggested a beach trip too, you know.”  
“No, for… coming after me.”  
“Oh.” Micah smiled through his tears. He wanted to tell Elijah that he knew from the beginning that he didn’t want to separate. That he was just putting on an act. He wanted to promise him that he’d never let Elijah’s sense of duty shove him away without a fight. But he needed to rest. “You’re welcome. How’s your tummy feeling?”  
“Better.” Elijah groaned softly, folding a hand over his belly, almost looking dazed. “I feel… so much better…”

Micah couldn’t help but laugh, dryly. “Well of course, you idiot, you didn’t eat for four fucking days! Another good reason for me to stay here tomorrow and the weekend. Gotta get you back on track.”

Elijah petted Micah’s hair again, his eyelids fluttering drowsily. “I… hmm. I think I might… go to sleep.”  
“You should.” Micah told him, thumping him on the chest and giggling when he turned his head to stifle another burp into the pillow. “I think I might, too.”  
His best friend’s eyes closed, and he sighed deeply. “Love you, Micah…”  
Micah smirked, smoothing down the patch of Elijah’s beard he’d mussed earlier. “Love you too… fuckwit.”


	16. Let It Wash Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah and Micah take a trip to the beach to try to have some fun following recent, difficult events. Heavy on shenanigans, sass, and _seafood._

The parking lot that stretched between the little fish shack and the street was rather haphazardly arranged. A scraggly row of landscape bushes cut across one corner, and a curb, lined with a fence, jutted out on one side and marked the edge of a row of vacation home properties. It was a fair number of obstacles to weave around, including the other foot traffic, if you were running against the winter breeze with a new coat snug about your shoulders.

The trek along the sidewalk was just too much of a _detour,_ though. He’d never reach the street in time to cross before Micah caught up; undoubtedly his best friend had already realized he wasn’t coming back with the napkins he said he was going for. Elijah’s shoes crunched over the gravel as he jogged towards the crosswalk, intent on the boardwalk on the other side. Beyond that lay an expanse of shoreline, and the glimmering, frosty sea. It was so _close_ — 

He skidded to a halt and mashed the “walk” button with the side of his gloved fist, nearly bouncing in place as he waited for the light to change. Alas, fate was not on his side, as moments later he heard an indignant shout and turned to see Micah striding towards him with purpose, brow drawn in a huff.

Briefly, Elijah considered simply darting out into traffic. He’d cause an uproar but the speed limit was low enough around these touristy areas that no one would actually _hit_ him. And he was fast and good at dodging anyways. But… he couldn’t allow the risk that Micah would follow him into the path of a moving vehicle. So with a sigh, he resigned himself to facing the mounting wrath of his best friend. 

“ _Elijah!_ ” Micah hollered when he got closer, and Elijah ducked his head with the proper amount of shame. “I can’t _believe_ you! You know I think that’s the first time you’ve ever _lied_ to me?”  
“It is _not!_ ” Elijah blurted in distress before he could stop himself, horrified at the implication. He dug in the pocket of his coat, withdrawing a wad of napkins, and held them out towards Micah, who glared back at him.

“That _so_ doesn’t count, you bastard. What’s gotten into you? Normally I can’t keep you away from any place with fish, but now I can’t get you to just sit down and eat!”

Elijah just stared forlornly at the ground, and after a few seconds ticked by, Micah groaned and grabbed his arm, dragging him back towards the shack and away from the busy street.

“El.” His best friend reached with both arms around his waist, giving him a tight hug, still glaring up at him. Elijah hugged him back, still not making eye contact, but squeaked out a faint plea nonetheless.  
“Micah, _please_ —“  
“El, you can’t go _swimming_ right now. That’s crazy, okay? You would go into shock and _drown_ , for fuck’s sake! Let’s just get some food and enjoy it, alright? We could go walk down by the pier later or something.”

Dejectedly, Elijah sighed and nodded, and let Micah lead him back into the shack so they could pick up their boats of fish and chips and make their way further into town as they munched on them. 

They looked into the windows of shops and wandered down cobbled streets between pastel buildings with weathered fronts and decorated windows. Elijah pulled Micah into a souvenir shop and followed him closely, eagerly, until Micah rolled his eyes and picked out a little ship in a bottle to take home with them. Elijah beamed at him, eyes warm and delighted, and Micah caved immediately, face softening as his gaze traveled from his best friend’s face down to the trinket once again. A spark of intense happiness lit his eyes as he carried it out of the shop, and Elijah, for his part, felt he might burst with joy.

“You want ice cream?” Micah asked him suddenly, as they paused on the sidewalk beneath a sweets shop sign, a large cone with a melting scoop decorating the painted boards. Elijah quirked a brow.  
“It seems a bit cold for ice cream.”  
“Said by the fucker who wants to go _swimming_ at this time of year.” Micah retorted. “You see that puddle over there, Elijah? There’s _ice_ in it.”

Elijah huffed out a breath that clouded in the frigid air. “Ice cream is too sweet for me.”  
“Shit, forgot about that for a sec. You could just have a lick of mine? That wouldn’t hurt your tummy, would it?”  
“Well, no, but I dislike the taste of sweet things, regardless. I think you would be better off with something warm though; what about hot chocolate?”

Micah brightened, then looked thoughtful. “Well, yeah… that’s my favorite but I dunno, just _really_ feeling ice cream for some reason.”  
Elijah thought for a moment, then smiled softly. “I believe I have an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were arranging themselves at a rickety plastic table, steaming cups in hand. Elijah set his latte down and motioned for Micah to take off the lid from his hot chocolate, using a spoon to lift the scoop of vanilla ice cream from the cup in his other hand. Carefully, so he wouldn’t splash his best friend’s fingers with scalding liquid, Elijah slid the scoop of ice cream into the cocoa, where it immediately began melting and coating the surface in a sweet, creamy foam.

Micah took a sip and beamed, eyes sparkling, as Elijah tossed the empty cup away and picked up his own drink for a sip. “This is so fucking good. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of doing this before.”  
Elijah smiled happily at him and sipped at his coffee again. “I am glad you like it.”

At a distance, the waves washed the shore, a rushing, soothing sound that wore down the frayed edges of his scattered thoughts the way the sand polished bits of glass into colorful stone in the current. Elijah smirked as Micah lowered his cup for a moment to lick hot chocolate from his lips, heedless of the sticky stain at one corner of his mouth.

_“Kids are just so sticky.” The woman had muttered, as she cleaned up her toddler with a damp napkin. He had been standing a little further down the aisle, hard-pressed to control his laughter. He wanted to spin around and grin at her and exclaim, “They sure are!” But he was trying not to call attention to himself. He’d wander around the store for a while until it closed, then he’d get on his knees to search beneath the counter for dropped change. Bri always seemed sticky, and she would fuss and whine when he attempted to clean her up, much like the little boy in the grasp of his mother’s hand was doing._

“What are you looking at?” Micah complained good-naturedly and Elijah smiled, shaking his head.   
“You have melted ice cream all over your face.” He informed him, pulling out a napkin from his coat pocket and passing it to him.  
“I can’t feel my face, how am I supposed to know there’s anything on it?” His best friend groused, taking the napkin and thanking him before wiping away the mess. He crumpled up the papery square then and tossed it in the wastebasket beside their table, then grew still, looking up at him.  
“What are you looking at?” Elijah teased, eyes crinkling. Micah’s gaze grew softer.

“I’ve… never seen you like this before, El. It’s like you’re a different person. Okay, well, maybe not _entirely_ —“ He interjected when Elijah wrinkled his nose slightly in confusion. “Just that… you seem so happy and… light.”

“We’re by the sea.” Elijah almost whispered, sipping at his coffee again. He turned his head towards the shoreline, and the cold breeze caught tendrils of his hair. The wind traced the edges of his face and chilled his skin, ruffled his facial hair, and the gust tasted like salt, like brine, fresh and bright and energizing. It made his lips feel chapped and reminded him of running, swift and desperate, across the yard while Brielle chased him with a snowball, laughing and pretending as if he were actually terrified of the impending doom of his tiny sister.

“But we’re not _in_ the sea.” Micah scolded immediately. “There will be no _getting in the sea_.”  
Elijah grunted in offense, rolling his eyes and digging in his pocket for a ren piece. “Do you want another scoop of ice cream for your cocoa?” His best friend had sipped the last of the first one off the top of his drink.

“I’ll get it, geez, it’s only a few cents for a scoop.” Micah scraped his plastic chair back, setting his cup down and brushing his thumb across his lips, making sure there wasn’t anything sticking to his face again. “I’ll be right back. Stay _here_ , El.”  
Elijah gave him a weary look, then watched as he disappeared into the ice cream shop across the street.

He waited a few seconds more, long enough for Micah to presumably get in line, then set his cup down on the table, got up from his chair, and bolted. He didn’t actually _agree_ to staying there, after all.

He was fast, but the streets were close and cluttered, and they had been up on a hill a little ways. The path down to the beach wove through the edge of town, and his steps scraped over sandy, weathered stones and cracked edges of curbs with weeds sprouting in between as he made a break for the sea. 

The shore disappeared behind the tall buildings he ducked behind, looking for a shortcut, and he stumbled as the ground beneath his feet transitioned from hard concrete to soft sand. His hands lifted as he sought his balance, then his fingers caught in the mesh of a chicken-wire fence, and he almost snarled in frustration, running along the length of it for a few steps before realizing it blocked his path completely. 

A shout from somewhere above him had him looking up, and he saw Micah, looking over the crest of the hill and the guard rail. His best friend’s eyes roamed over the area below before coming to rest on him, standing helplessly on the sand in front of the fence. Elijah could see him scowl from where he stood.

He glanced back the way he had come, up the hill. If he really ran hard, maybe he could—  
Micah disappeared from where he had been looking down at him, moving towards the street. No, he probably wouldn’t make it.  
He held his ground, sandy though it was, as his best friend stalked up to him, giving him an absolutely withering look.

“Elijah—“  
“Micah, _please_.” Elijah was seized with the urge to run again, managing two steps to the side before Micah crashed into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him fast. “Micah, _please!_ It will be quick, there does not have to be any danger if I stay in the shallows!”  
“Elijah, you _can’t_. It is _too fucking cold_ for this.” Micah groaned, tightening his grasp on his best friend’s coat. “I can’t believe you think this wouldn’t end in disaster. You’re usually the sensible one, not me!”  
“ _Please_.” Elijah begged, soulful blue eyes glimmering with longing as he glanced between Micah’s face and the edge of the ocean. “Please.”  
Micah sighed. “Maybe this was a dumb idea. Just up and coming to the beach when it’s this cold.”  
“No, I…” Elijah sighed heavily, hanging his head. “I’m sorry. We can still have fun together. I have enjoyed it so far.”

Micah frowned, then let go of him, except to take his hand and hold it tightly, as both a comfort and likely a leash, as well. “Me too. But I’m _not_ going to enjoy it if your frozen ass sinks to the bottom of the sea. So _stop_ it.” 

Pouting, more or less, Elijah let Micah lead him by the hand back up the hill and to their table, where they collected the cooled remnants of their drinks and finished them, before tossing the empty cups away.

They were nearing the more historical parts of the little shanty town by the coast, and stopped to read plaques, look at monuments and the remains of an ancient boat, dragged ashore and preserved. They lingered near a shack with a seashell curtain, where an old fisherman sat on his porch and told stories. There was hat at his feet that Elijah dropped a ten ren bill in with a soft smile, and the toothless one he got in return was breathtaking, charming down to every wizened wrinkle. 

There was a small gift shop on one corner that doubled as an information desk, more modern than the surrounding block but not as touristy as other areas of town. The two of them ducked inside to warm up for a few minutes before they would make their way back to the hotel. Elijah paused, watching tropical fish drift lazily back and forth in a small aquarium, when he felt a sharp poke in his side and looked down into Micah’s stern gaze.

“El, I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, and you aren’t going _anywhere_. Okay? Promise me you won’t. Otherwise I’m gonna have to hold it and it’ll be a sucky walk back to the hotel.”  
Elijah grimaced. Well, it was hardly fair for him to take advantage of Micah over _that_. With a heavy sigh, he nodded slowly.  
“Alright, Micah. I promise I will not leave this building without you. I will wait right here.”

Micah gave him a long look before he seemed to believe him, then turned around and went to the little hallway in the back with two doors, underneath the rectangular sign designating them as “restrooms.” Elijah looked towards the window, but the cold, gray streets afforded him no view of the shoreline, silvery waves dancing underneath the winter sun. When it started getting warmer again, the coquina clams would begin stirring, turning the sand into pitted pools of squirming sea creatures. A three-year old Brielle had shrieked at the sight of them and run for their mother’s arms. He had scooped up a writhing mass with delight and chased after her, a high-pitched giggle on his lips, until he was snatched up by his father hands and tickled without mercy until he practically screamed that he’d stop bullying his sister.

Elijah sighed and laid his cheek against the windowpane, staring hungrily in the direction of the sea he could not reach. Micah didn’t take long and rejoined him a couple of minutes later, looking relieved that it had proved true that as long as Elijah _said_ he wasn’t going anywhere, he meant it.

They walked back through town, planning to watch something on the tv at the hotel, cuddle up on the bed with its huge fluffy duvet and half a dozen pillows and just doze the evening away. Sometime in the morning, they’d have to pack up and head back to the city. Micah had class, and Elijah needed to make a report back to his superiors that he was in shape again for resuming his responsibilities. He hadn’t made that report before now, so he could have just these last few days with Micah before he had to be prepared to take on unexpected calls.

Just before they reached the hotel, Elijah stopped on the sidewalk, turned his head, and stared.  
There was an open area in front of them, a part of the coast that hadn’t been fully developed, and so, no buildings were there to block his view. He could see the waves, and a little rocky inlet, where the seafoam rustled in on the current and doused the sand and stones. He sighed deeply and Micah patted his back gently.  
“Sorry, El. We’ll come back when it’s warm, okay? Then you can swim all you want.”

A long silence stretched between them. It had, in fact, just occurred to Elijah, that at the moment, Micah wasn’t holding his hand, nor were their arms linked together. His back was to Micah and his face to the sea. There was nothing between him and the waves except an expanse of sand. And he was faster than Micah.

“El? What’s wrong?”  
Elijah smiled broadly. “I’m faster than you.”  
“What do you— hey! _Elijah!_ ”

Elijah _ran_.

He was moving so fast, so suddenly, from a dead stand-still, that he almost laughed, breathless by the speed of his own launch, thinking dazedly in the back of his mind about _What was that saying again? Hounds of hell? Like the hounds of hell were on his heels_.

He ran and his feet pounded the sand and he didn’t turn his head or strain his ears to try to determine if Micah was after him; he’d never catch him anyways, not before he reached the water, the sea, _his sea_.

As he ran, he shucked off his gloves, snagging his fingers on the buttons of his coat, dropping it behind him on the beach; he’d pick it up later. He couldn’t fully strip down of course, but he might as well get rid of the extra weight. He wasted a few precious seconds to yank off a boot on one stride, then the other— the spray of sand his footsteps slung up hit the back of his hand. The wind was _freezing_.

For the first moments of his flight, the distance between him and the waves seemed to stagnate, never drawing closer, and then suddenly it was right _there_ , and he was leaping up, scrambling onto the rocks at the crest of the inlet, running and scratching his socked toes on stone. Then he was diving, remembering to take a breath and hold it at the last second, just before he plunged beneath the surface, water rushing over his back. The absolute cold of the sea snaked its grasp deep into every muscle and bone and he saw nothing but silver and white.

 _Cold_.  
Cold beyond ice and snow and falling mercury.  
Cold that seized every vein and every thought and every inch of his skin.

He gasped with it, with the shock of how deep that coldness carved, losing a few precious bubbles of air, but then his vision began to clear and he felt the sting of saltwater on his eyes. It was cold and it was clear and he could see the seafloor, just a short distance below, smooth and sandy, and he thought, _I can reach it_.

He remembered the competitive swim team at the highschool he’d attended, and their diving exercises; jump in, swim down and touch the bottom, then come back up, get out of the pool, take your place again. Over and over and then the laps would start. He remembered thinking how much he wished he could join them. How much he wished he had the time to spare after school, how much he wished the scars on his body wouldn’t make the teachers ask too many questions. How much he wished and wanted and never, ever dared to chase those dreams.  
 _I could have beaten them_. He thought. _I would have been the fastest swimmer on that team_.

He stroked out, fingers digging against the current, sweeping through the water and pulling him downwards as he kicked, surging deeper. His hair flowed out behind him as he’d left it down for the day to keep his ears warm; now he couldn’t feel his ears, but he could feel the ocean and its power and its starkness and he was alive and drowning but not quite, and it was _cold_ , silver and cold.

He reached a hand down and grabbed at the sand beneath him, dusting up a cloud from the movement, then he swerved, bending back up towards the light and kicked, pushing off against that soft seafloor and rushing towards the surface. Glimmering spots filtered down from the gray sunlight and brushed his face, and then he burst into the air with a splash and he gasped against the sky, so lost in the heady rush of being so damn alive he could barely _stand it_.

Micah was standing on the end of the rocks by the inlet, hands in his pockets as he looked out at him, but even though he was only a short distance away, Elijah’s eyes were stinging too much from the saltwater and the frigid air that he couldn’t tell what his expression was. So he swam over, and looked up into his best friend’s face more carefully, finding that for once, Micah’s eyes were unreadable.

Elijah opened his mouth to apologize but then, out burst a delighted giggle that melted into laughter and he grinned, his teeth chattering. “I w-w-won!”  
Micah sighed deeply and knelt onto the rocks, reaching down and grabbing his best friend’s sleeve, struggling to help him pull himself back onto land. “Yeah. You did. And I can’t stay mad at you with that fucking look on your face. So let’s just get you inside and in the damn shower, okay?”

Elijah managed to haul himself up, shaking violently by the time they got back to where he dropped most of his clothes, and Micah helped him gather them up. Strands of his hair were freezing in the wind and he couldn’t even speak past the quaking in his core by the time they reached the hotel room. Micah pushed a change of clothes into his shaking arms and shoved him into the bathroom, glaring at him and trying to hide a smirk.

He adjusted the water carefully, getting under the lukewarm stream at first and then slowly turning it up as he allowed himself to get used to the temperature. The heat was so bright and sharp against his skin after the cold and he shivered and shook for a while longer before his muscles began to unclench and the knots in his shoulders began to unravel. He sat down heavily after a few moments, taking deep breaths and blinking away the spots in his vision. He went ahead and washed his hair, then stoppered the drain so the hot water would fill the tub, letting him soak and slowly get warm.

When he had stopped shivering, he turned off the water and drained the tub, limply dragging himself out and drying off, toweling his hair and pulling on his warm sweats and big, comfortable hoodie. He opened the door to the bathroom, steam drifting out behind him, and Micah looked his way from where he was sitting on the bed facing the television set, where a laser-light game was playing.

Elijah broke into a grin, bounded across the room and more or less leapt onto the bed, laughing aloud at Micah’s indignant squawk as he scooped him up, nestling back down against the comforter with him in his arms. He held his best friend tightly, burying his face in his curls and kissing the top of his head.

“I’m sorry I made you angry.” Elijah mumbled and he felt Micah sigh before he wrapped his arms around his shoulders in return and squeezed him warmly.  
“I’m not that mad really, since you seem okay and all. Was it worth it?”

Elijah lifted his head so he could look into Micah’s eyes and smile at him. “As long as you are not too upset with me, then yes, absolutely.”  
Micah’s expression softened affectionately. “Nah, I’m not. You can feel proud of your asshole stunt.” He smirked and Elijah laughed again.

They sat for a few minutes, watching the game together, and Elijah played with Micah’s curls as he held him against his chest. A deep exhaustion was creeping over him and he might have liked to go to sleep, but hunger was beginning to gnaw at his insides and it was very distracting. He reminded himself that if he made an effort to wait things out, the initial hunger pangs would fade and he could get something to eat later, but then his stomach growled loudly against Micah’s back, instantly giving him away.

Micah squirmed around to look up at him. “Oh, of course _now_ you’re hungry, after an entire day of leaving food behind while trying to give yourself hypothermia!”  
Elijah felt a bit of a blush creep up his neck. “I was not going to mention it.”

His best friend sighed and climbed off his lap. “Well, you shouldn’t be thinking _that_ , either. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want you to leave the room again tonight. Not that I think you’re gonna take another plunge, El, don’t give me that look. I just mean I want you to stay where it’s warm. There’s a restaurant across the street, I could just get something and bring it back here?”

Elijah opened his mouth to protest, feeling extremely guilty at the implication that Micah should have to go all the way over there by himself, but then a strong breeze rustled past the window, shaking the fronds of a palm tree and accenting the sounds of waves in the distance, and he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to start an argument, and Micah should be alright, there wasn’t much danger around here, and it wasn’t much of a walk.

“If… if you are certain you want to…” Elijah murmured slowly, standing up and moving towards where Micah had hung his coat up on the wall. He reached into the pocket of it and pulled out some ren bills, folding them up and pressing them into his best friend’s hand, who momentarily looked aghast.  
“El, don’t you have a ren chip? Carrying all this loose cash around is… kind of freaky.”

“I have one, but all ren chips are connected to large organizations that use the data they collect from them for suspicious purposes. I only use mine for academia-related purchases. The coastal towns down here see more loose money transfer than city residents do; you do not have to worry about seeming suspicious.”  
Micah sighed and pocketed the cash. “If you say so, I guess.” He smiled then as he looked up into Elijah’s face. “I’ll get something good. How much do you think you can eat?”

Elijah balked, glancing aside. There was no easy way to answer this question. Complete honesty would put far more focus on himself than he should be allowing. Not to mention he didn’t want Micah to have to carry a ridiculous amount.

After a few seconds too long of silence, Micah sighed and lifted a hand, gently smacking him right in the stomach, and it growled again almost pointedly. “El, if you’re really hungry and feel like you can eat a lot, just _say_ so. I wanna be cozy tonight, since we’ll have to go back tomorrow. I want _both_ of us to be cozy, and that’s not going to happen if you don’t eat enough to get full, no matter how good you think you are at hiding it.”

A dark shadow pulled at his mind, scratching at his thoughts and telling him what he wanted did _not matter_ , but he could hear the waves washing the shore and the sound was steady and stronger than that shadow. He smiled, eyes warming. He wanted to be cozy tonight too.

“I think I am probably hungry enough to eat quite a bit.”  
“I’ll just get like… a few different things off the menu and we can treat it like a big picnic and eat the leftovers for lunch tomorrow before we leave.” Micah grinned, lifting an arm to shrug into his coat when Elijah held it up for him. “Thanks, dude. I’ll be right back.”  
“Be careful.” Elijah told him softly, and his best friend laughed as he leaned over to hug him.  
“It’s barely even a walk! But don’t worry El, I will, promise.”

Elijah ensconced himself back in the bed after Micah had left, wrapping up in the heavy blankets and settling comfortably on the mound of pillows. It was so _soft_ , and warm, and safe, and he could hear the ocean, even more clearly now that he had muted the tv. He worried he might doze off, but he was truly starting to feel rather ravenous, and instead listened for Micah’s returning footsteps. 

When he heard them, he disentangled himself from his nest swiftly and came to the door, opening it so Micah wouldn’t have to struggle with his keycard, and smiled in relief at the sight of his best friend, safe and sound.

“Don’t look so sappy, fuckface, it’s just food.” Micah snorted with humor, letting Elijah help him with the bags as he came through the door, and Elijah made a deeply offended noise before he could stop himself.

“I am happy to see _you_ , Micah.” He admonished, hoping his stomach wouldn’t betray him again now that the room was filling with mouthwatering smells. “It makes me uneasy for you to be out of sight in a strange location.”

“I’m kidding you know, you bastard.” Micah laughed and shook his head when he saw where Elijah had been curled up on the bed. “I see you’ve been getting comfy. Let’s get like the fucking ironing board out of the closet or something and put it across the bed so we can just stack food on top of it.”

They did exactly that, setting out the plastic containers and bundling up in the blankets together. Micah reached for the remote to turn the volume back up, then hesitated, looking over at Elijah.  
“Did you want to leave it muted?”

Elijah finished swallowing an oyster almost whole, careful not to make any impolite sounds around the juices in his mouth. “You should turn it back up if you would like to.”  
His best friend gave him a knowing look. “I can watch laser-light any time. If it’s bothering you and you’d rather leave it muted, we can do that.“  
“I only turned it down so that I could listen to the sounds of the ocean. It is not bothering me at all, especially if—”

Micah turned off the television set entirely, scooting back to lean against Elijah’s side, ignoring his wide, soft eyes. “That’s all I needed to know.”   
Elijah was still for a long moment, waiting for the guilt to creep in, but… it didn’t. Micah had prodded him gently for his reason and then had made his own decision regarding that, surely it was alright if he let him? 

A warmth spread in his chest instead of the bleak tendrils of shame, and he smiled, settling back a little farther, taking comfort in his best friend’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Micah.”  
“It’s okay, man. You know you can… say what you want from time to time? You don’t have to always cave to whatever I want.”  
“I willl… try to keep that in mind.”

Elijah turned his attention back to the food, cracking open another oyster and biting the sweet meat from the shell. He chewed sparingly before he swallowed, and the taste flooded his senses and the back of his throat. It was _delicious_ , and he was having a hard time going slowly, the way he’d warned Micah so many times before. It was a good thing the shellfish had come in their shells, or there’d be nothing hindering him from wolfing them down at an alarming pace. They had a full-bodied, ripe flavor that was wholly their own. 

Micah had gotten an impressive array of food. A plate of oysters was Elijah’s main focus at the moment, and his best friend was nibbling away at a grouper filet, but there was so much more. Steamed crab legs were stacked on a plate next to what could only be described as a vat of butter. Fried scallops in a cheesy casserole dish were giving off a deeply savory aroma, and grilled flounder was laid over a bed of rice in a deep dish in the middle. Smaller containers of green beans and garlic potatoes and steamed carrots were interspersed throughout. There was a bowl of something that looked like clam chowder.

His best friend caught sight of him eyeing the spread, then seemed to remember something, digging in his pocket and withdrawing a fistful of ren pieces. “Oh! Here’s the change! Almost forgot, damn.” Then he bit his lip. “Did I get too much? I wanted us to be able to sort of have a feast tonight or something.”

Elijah shook his head, bringing a napkin to his lips quickly so he wouldn’t drip oyster juice on the duvet. “No, of course not Micah, this is wonderful. You do not have to worry about things like that. I rarely spend extra, and I have more than enough in the first place. It is completely alright for us to indulge once in a while.” He glanced at the money in Micah’s hand. “If I asked that you keep that—“  
“Dude, no way.” Micah laughed. “You can’t just throw money at me, you have to be subtle about it, remember? That’s the deal, it still stands.”  
Elijah sighed and took the handful of change, setting it aside on the nightstand. “Alright, I remember.”

He made his way through the plate in front of him as swiftly as he could shuck off the shells, opening the little container of mignonette sauce after a few more of them and dipping them generously, humming around mouthfuls that rang of vinegar and champagne and ground black pepper. He offered some to Micah, but his best friend waved him away, insisting he didn’t _like_ oysters, and Elijah smiled. More for him then.

The edge of his hunger was beginning to abate as Elijah chewed the last one, almost regretting not savoring them longer. He swallowed, dropping the half shell on the pile and getting up momentarily to set the plate aside. He came back to the bed and used one of the empty paper plates to fork a flounder piece and scoop up helpings of the vegetables. He sat back against the headboard, watching Micah finish his plate of fish and get a cupful of the thick, white soup.

“Is that clam chowder?” Elijah asked, then laughed with hilarity when his best friend took a sip of it and immediately made the most disgusted face he’d ever seen on him. “I suppose it is.”  
“I’ve never had it before! Shit, it’s so strong. A lot of this stuff is.” Micah complained, willingly handing the cup off when Elijah opened a hand, offering to take it. 

“Mmm. It’s _good_.” Elijah swallowed deeply and filled his mouth again. “Fills your senses.” He chewed on a morsel of seafood and reached for a piece of the sourdough bread to go with it. After a few moments, he set his full plate aside and picked up the larger bowl of soup, taking more slices of bread. “You would probably like the scallop dish, Micah, it looks to be cooked in a way that it would have more of the traditional flavors you are used to.”

Micah smiled and spooned up a serving of the casserole onto a plate, sitting back and forking it, taking a bite. “Ooh, you’re right, it’s really good. Are the scallops these little white things?”

“Presumably. Sometimes scallop dishes you can order from restaurants are actually made with shark meat. It is a less expensive replacement that tastes similarly.”  
Micah frowned. “Well, that’s kind of… underhanded.”  
Elijah chuckled, sipping at a glass of water thirstily before answering. “Many businesses have similar practices.”  
“Could you tell the difference just by tasting it?”  
“Hm. I probably could.”

Micah held up a forkful and Elijah reached to take it, smiling in amusement and relenting when Micah gestured insistently, opening his mouth and accepting the bite. He chewed slowly, thinking, before swallowing. “It’s shark.”  
“Aw, fuck. How can you tell?”  
“It has been cooked in vinegar to disguise the taste.” Elijah decided not to tell Micah that sharks urinate through their skin, making it necessary for eateries to disguise the flavor of the meat in the first place, knowing it would likely disgust his best friend to the point where he wouldn’t eat it. “Still enjoyable, though. It is still seafood.”  
“Yeah.” Micah grinned, taking another bite. “It’s still good.”

Elijah finished the clam chowder, blinking sleepily and stifling a burp behind his hand. It should have been enough to serve two people, but he wasn’t going to let it go to waste if Micah wasn’t going to have any. It had been so _good_ , heavy with cream and potatoes and notes from the sea, little bits of whole clam and slivers of onion sprinkled throughout. He’d eaten several pieces of the sourdough with it, and the bread was freshly-baked; airy and chewy and melt-in-your-mouth soft with a crisp on the crust. It felt heavy in his belly now, along with more than half a dozen oysters and a few bites of flounder. Speaking of which, he still had his other plate.

He picked it back up, spooning up some steamed carrots and biting into the pleasantly crunchy mouthful with a hum. It was a nice break from the delicious but powerful flavors of seafood, and he followed it with a bite of green beans, then one of the garlic potatoes. He began taking more of the flounder after he’d eaten about half his vegetables, and the fresh, flaky fish parted deliciously between his teeth, was accented beautifully by the squeeze of lemon juice he’d spritzed over it. Flounder, potatoes, carrots, beans, back to the flounder and carrots; his mouth didn’t stay empty for long between mouthfuls, and he paused only once to drizzle some homemade cocktail sauce over the remainder of his fish. The food came alive with notes of tomato and horseradish, so delectably complementary to the strip of flavorful, fatty skin of the flounder crusted with a grit of flour and salt.

He only had a few spoonfuls of potato left and a bit of the difficult meat near the tail when a hiccup surprised him, jostling his full stomach and prompting a faint groan. He hadn’t realized how full he was beginning to get. Beside him, Micah laughed, setting aside his phone and reaching for his belly, which was beginning to swell under his hoodie. “You done finally?”

“No.” Elijah frowned stubbornly. “I have not even tried the crab yet, and— mmm…” He lowered his plate so he could move his arm a little, when Micah pressed a hand to the curve of his swollen stomach, rubbing a soft circle over the bulge of his upper belly. The tense muscles loosened under his best friend’s warm palm.  
“Sure you’re not. You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Elijah’s cheek was resting on the corner of the pillow he’d propped up behind his back, and he hummed again against the soft, cool texture on his face. “That feels… so good.”

His eyes were closed, so he missed the way Micah paused and looked at him in astonishment, eyes lighting up and smile spreading over his face, but he pressed up almost unintentionally into the massage when his best friend began rubbing at his belly again, drawing his fingers soothingly over the stretched feeling in his sides, making circles and pressing in with the heel of his hand. The ocean roared and whispered at the sandy coast and dark shadows found no foothold. Every inch of his body was cradled by a soft bed; blankets and sheets billowed around him and he was so, so full.

When he felt himself beginning to truly drift off, he shook his head determinedly, sitting up just a bit and stuffing a large spoonful of potatoes past his lips. Micah laughed.  
“Still going, huh? You want me to get the crab for you?”  
Elijah perked up a little more. “Yes, please.”

He finished off what was left on his plate, eagerly accepting the new one Micah passed him.  
“I guess we don’t have any of those—“ His best friend made a motion not unlike scissors. “Cracker things. The things you use to crack shells open.”

“I don’t need them.” Elijah hummed, snapping a crab leg at the joint and pulling out the tendril of keratin that ran through the center. Then he braced his thumbs against the length of the shell, pressing carefully and firmly until it cracked in half. He tossed away one side of the shell and pulled out the meat, long and tender and colorful.

“You would love crab, Micah.” Elijah told him, moving the butter into his reach and handing him the strip of meat, gesturing for him to dip it and enjoy. Micah sighed and went for it, smiling in delight and quickly grabbing a napkin when butter dripped down his chin. “Wow, you’re right. It’s amazing. But I’m actually pretty full, and I kinda just want to watch _you_ eat it.” He laughed. “Don’t think you can manage it all anyways, I’ll get some tomorrow.” Then he groaned as a look flitted across Elijah’s face. “Oh no you don’t - do _not_ take that as a challenge, dude, you’ll eat yourself sick!”  
Elijah smirked, breaking open another shell. “We’ll see.”

The crab was so _rich_ , soaked in butter, chewy and flaky all at once, indulgent with every mouthful and swallow. He leaned forward with difficulty to get another serving of vegetables to trade on and off with the texture and taste, breathing a little heavily around each bite. His lungs felt crowded for space, the weight of his incredibly full belly pulsing tightly under his ribs, and he paused once to belch softly behind his hand and excuse himself politely. He dipped another piece of crab in the butter, beginning to congeal in its cooling container, and without thinking, he licked the grease from his fingertips before he reached for another piece.

He’d taken another bite of carrots when his stomach cramped just a little and a gurgle worked its way through his belly, top to bottom, and he stopped and squirmed a little. Then, suddenly, the half-finished plate disappeared from in front of him as Micah whisked it away, getting up from the bed and moving well out of reach, grinning back at him reproachfully.

“Micah!” Elijah protested, hiccuping in surprise and struggling to sit up. “I’m not finished yet.”  
“Oh yes you are. Your tummy’s been gurgling nonstop for the past ten minutes. Call me crazy, but I swear it only does that when you’re about to start hurting.”

Elijah scowled and made a grab for the dish of rice and flounder, still on the ironing board, intending to eat that if Micah wouldn’t let him have the crab back, but then his best friend came back and took that one too. “Dude, come on! You’re so full you can’t even get up properly, you can _stop_.”

“But there’s still more.” Elijah almost whined, wiping his buttery fingers on a napkin and pressing a hand to the mattress beneath him, intending to get to his feet and go after the food. He wasn’t hurting yet, not _really_. He could finish at least one of them. Shifting his weight though caused something to shift in in his engorged stomach and he stopped with a frown, his hands raising to cradle the expanse of his belly, pushing out from under his shirt. His fingers met the swell before he expected them to and he groaned.

“You can eat more _tomorrow_ , Elijah.” Micah laughed, taking a few minutes to box up the leftovers as he waved a hand at his friend. “Just sit down and relax. Don’t go jumping around and upsetting your tummy.”

Elijah carefully scooted back on the bed, beginning to realize that the room was starting to tilt a little, and that how stuffed he really was hadn’t quite caught up to him yet. Waves of fullness began to wash over him, each more intense than the last, and he stretched out on his back, holding his belly and struggling to think around the stupor he was sinking into. He breathed slowly, in and out, and closed his eyes.

He felt Micah move everything off the bed, then crawl back in with him, moaning softly when his best friend’s cool hands pressed over the mound that was his stomach and began stroking and rubbing rhythmically.

“El?” Micah nudged him, sounding amused but maybe a little concerned. “You okay?”  
“Mmhmm…” Elijah managed a vague noise of affirmation. “Really—“ He was interrupted by a deep belch. “—full.”  
“No fucking kidding.” Micah began to laugh again. “I’m pretty sure you ate what _should_ have fed like four people.”  
“Nnnhh…”  
“Goddesses.” Micah grinned as he glanced towards the foot of the bed, then back up to his face. “It’s almost scary sometimes how big you are.”

Elijah made a sound of offended embarrassment and folded both his hands over his belly, rolling away a little and giving Micah a look through narrowed eyes. His best friend threw back his head and laughed so hard he shook the mattress.  
“I don’t mean your _tummy_ , El, geez! I meant _all_ of you. You barely fit on the bed! You’re an absolute fucking behemoth.”  
“Oh.” Elijah practically squeaked, settling again and moving his hands, gratefully making room for Micah to begin rubbing his belly again. The mass of food inside him pressed heavily at the wall of his stomach muscles and throbbed with his pulse, and it was impossible not to arch up into the kneading motion that Micah’s fingers were doing, working against the tightness and soothing his restless squirming. He groaned again and stifled a burp and tried to breathe evenly.

“I’m waiting for you to admit you ate too much.” Micah giggled, pressing in over the line of tension just above his navel and Elijah could swear his vision faded for a moment in a rush of sheer pleasure.  
“Did not.” He grunted and turned his head, nestling his cheek further into the cool pillow. “Ate as much as I wanted. Stomach’s just not big enough.”  
“Holy shit, you sound _drunk_.” He could hear the incredulous grin in Micah’s voice.

The two of them were quiet for a long few minutes while Micah massaged his best friend’s massively bloated belly and Elijah struggled not to drift off, wrapped in comfort and blankets and the sounds of the sea, so blissfully happy he could barely hold onto a conscious thought. He didn’t bother to pry his eyes open when he heard Micah speak up.

“Hey El? This might be kind of a silly question but what is it about the beach you like so much?”  
Elijah hummed softly. “My mother loved the beach. We came as a family for a trip when I was very young, and both Bri and I grew to love it as well in just the few days we stayed. It’s… one of my happiest memories. It wasn’t long later that things began to fall apart, and as we grew older, Bri and I made plans that we would leave the city when I turned eighteen and come to live down on the coast. I was confident I could make an income by selling robotic designs to companies in the city, and she wanted to— do you know the school, Breakwater?”  
“The performing arts school? Down by the islands?”  
“Yes, that’s the one. She wanted to attend and learn theater. We kept a calendar, year by year, counting down until I would turn eighteen so we could run. We—“ Elijah swallowed hard. “Didn’t make it.”

Heavy silence. Except for his gurgling belly. Elijah smiled softly at the thought and he heard Micah take a slightly relieved breath.  
“The seaside is a home I always looked forward to and never quite reached. Nothing feels so sharp down here… as though maybe it was all a dream, and I’ll turn around and she’ll be there…”

“Didn’t you tell me your sister was kind of shy?” Micah questioned lightly, alternating pressure with both his palms and suddenly working up a huge belch from Elijah’s swollen stomach that he failed to stifle and blushed as he belatedly covered his mouth. His best friend laughed. “Sorry, dude. Better out than in, though. Anyways, wouldn’t it have been hard for her to get used to getting on a big stage like that?”

A soft sound left Elijah’s lips as Micah’s hand circled the swell under his ribs soothingly. “My sister could have done anything.”  
“Yeah. I’d believe anything you said in a voice like that.” Micah giggled.

The minutes ticked by and slowly, Elijah began feeling less like he might burst with all that he’d eaten and more like he’d sleep for ten years, under the weight of his enormous meal and the clouds of the blankets around him. Everything was so comfortable and warm and safe, and the swell of his belly grumbled with pleasure under the soft, stroking motions of Micah’s hands. But there was something he wanted and he wasn’t sure he would get it before he drifted off unless he asked for it…

Something twinged in his middle with the little spark of anxiety that rose to the surface, scolding him, reminding him that he was not here to _want_ , but a wave crashed to the shore outside and the rushing tide washed the shadows away. “…Micah?”  
“What’s up?”  
Seafoam and sand. No shadows. “Will you lie down with me?”  
“Sure, El.” Micah’s voice turned incredibly soft. “Here, lemme turn the lights off and change into my sweats and I’ll come right back.”

Micah was gone only moments, then came back, crawling up into the bed again and nestling into his best friend’s arms when he held them out. Elijah hiccuped suddenly and squeezed his eyes shut with an abrupt prickle of nausea that eased up just a moment later. He relaxed again.  
“Sorry, did I bounce you too much? Hurt your tummy?” Micah giggled, smoothing a palm over the tightest stretch of Elijah’s belly again and he hummed softly.  
“I’m alright.”

He cradled Micah in his arms and cuddled him closely, nosing over his curls and breathing in his scent. He rubbed a hand down his back, warm and affectionate. He wanted this, he wanted this _always_. To hold Micah in his arms… never feeling as if he were taking too much, because he was also _giving_ — giving and taking in perfect tandem and perfect balance, this touch, this warmth, this comfort.

Then Micah raised a hand and began combing his long hair back from his face, following his cheek and brushing his shoulder. He repeated the motion, whispering something quietly that sounded like love, and Elijah closed his eyes.

The touch of fingertips against his skin traced the outline of his being, the space he filled, the place he held. Tracing and loving and declaring so silently and so loudly, _you belong here. You’re real, I’m holding you, so where else are you supposed to be?_ His heart beat inside his chest and he could feel his pulse in his temple where Micah’s touch cradled him, and in his belly around a mound of food that filled him so completely the press of his lungs was almost a labor.

“Love you, Micah…” Elijah whispered, losing his last shred of awareness. A kiss was pressed to his forehead and a reply whispered in his ear.  
“Love you too, El. Goodnight…”


	17. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some housekeeping details!

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading my story thus far, I want to let you know there's more to come! c:

You've just finished reading "arc one," which included a number of self-contained fics that tie into a larger story! "Arc two" begins in the next chapter of this work and follows the spring semester of the boys' sophomore year. Each "arc" follows a period of time that would be considered a semester (with some minor overlap here and there).

I have a LOT more content on my Tumblr, so please come visit me there! c: there are side stories, drabbles, artwork, and worldbuilding details, and even some fun things like memes and ask games. You can find my Tumblr at https://tiny-tum.tumblr.com!

Thanks again for reading, I hope you've enjoyed the story so far and I hope to see you around! ♡


	18. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah convinces Elijah to take him on a benign errand into the depths of the illicit community. New and delicious foods lead to a _very_ stuffed tummy for Micah, though the excitement certainly doesn’t stop there.

Micah opened the wooden box in his lap, leaning back comfortably against Elijah’s side, who hummed faintly, but didn’t wake. They’d gotten an email that campus would have a delayed opening that day, thanks to the previous night’s heavy snowfall. Classes wouldn’t start until noon, and that covered almost all of Micah’s classes except for his 3pm lab. Elijah didn’t have class on Tuesdays or Thursdays this semester, so he was free to head underground once he’d seen Micah to the bus stop after lunch. They’d already had breakfast and had gotten comfortable on the couch, which of course meant that Elijah wouldn’t be rousing again until it was time to go somewhere. _Sleepy bastard_.

Micah began to take squares and slips of paper out of the box with a reverence he rarely demonstrated. Sticky notes, notebook pages, were scrawled with words of encouragement. From highschool teachers, from friends, and then…

The last letter in the box was a creased, fragile thing, that was a replacement of the replacement of the original; he’d rewritten it with painstaking care twice already. He cast a nervous glance back towards Elijah to make sure his best friend wouldn’t see him tear up, and scrubbed a hand over his eyes when he was certain he wasn’t being watched. Elijah’s warm side was comforting against his back, though. His calm breaths, in and out, rising and falling, were deeply reassuring too.

 _To our son, Micah_ , the letter read.  
_It might be a trivial thing, leaving a note in such a way, but we wanted to give you something of us, to keep with you if you want it. Maybe you don’t, and that’s alright too._  
_As you grow, and learn, you’ll probably begin to wonder why. Why we didn’t keep you close, why you’re in a big world on your own you don’t feel you understand._  
_We hope you won’t be alone for long. We’re doing this to give you the chance to have the home that we can’t provide. Things are messy here; you would have grown up in a broken household, with little to offer, and we want you to have something better than that._  
_We hope you find love, and happiness, and live with few regrets and many reasons to be proud. We hope you experience all the little joys that life has to offer, and maybe even, the moments that bring tears that make everything worthwhile. We hope you make this world your own.  
__We cannot say that we love you, because we do not know you. But we wanted to. We wanted to know you, we wanted to love you. Know that, at least._

 _Your mother and father,  
__We wish you the very best_.

“Micah.”

A broad, gentle hand ruffled his curls, then dipped lower as fingers brushed away the tear tracks on his cheeks. Micah sniffed loudly and shook his head with a grin. “Thought you were asleep.”

Elijah didn’t answer; he was familiar with this particular ritual by now — when Micah would take every letter out of the box and read them one by one, then cry over the only memento he had of his parents, who had given him up for adoption the day he was born. His best friend offered his endlessly understanding presence, petting Micah’s head again, tucking his arm more tightly around him and giving a gentle squeeze.

“I was thinking ‘bout rewriting it, but now that I’m looking at it, I think it can make it a little longer.” Micah murmured, cuddling into the embrace and giving a deep sigh. “What do you think?”

Elijah brushed a thumb over one edge of the letter as though it were more breakable than a robin’s eggshell. “The crease in the middle is looking fairly worn, but I think you are right that it could last a bit longer before it became absolutely necessary to transcribe it again.”

Elijah dropped his hand and reached for the pile of other notes. He smiled at the battered sticky note declaring “Good luck on your test!” from one of Micah’s favorite teachers, then his fingers hesitated over a sealed envelope. He picked it up after a moment, turning it over to find it blank in every way, at least on the outside, and gave Micah a vaguely curious look.

“Oh.” Micah sniffed again, rubbing his eyes. “That.” He took a deep breath, and his best friend put down the envelope and hugged him again. Micah laid his head on his chest and rested there.  
“I wrote that ages ago, for Stephanie.”

There was a pause.

“Your mother’s girlfriend?” Elijah prompted, concern in his voice, and Micah smiled. He’d remembered.  
“Yeah. After mom died and Stephanie dropped off the map, I held out hope for way too long that she’d come back, and I wrote her a bunch of shitty emotional letters. Dunno what I was thinking. But I wrote her that one,” he flicked a thumb at the sealed envelope, “In case I ever did see her again. I should probably just throw it away… but I dunno. I have this weird urge to keep it.”

Elijah kissed the top of his head and Micah tearfully grinned, burying his face further into his best friend’s comforting shoulder. “I think you will know for yourself if and when you are ready to throw it away. It’s doing no harm where it is now.”

“Yeah. I think you’re right.” Micah shrugged out of the hug just a little to get his phone before snuggling back, checking the time. “It’s almost noon. You wanna make lunch?”  
“Mmm. I want to sleep.” Elijah mumbled, closing his eyes again. Micah snagged one of the many pillows around them and gave him a light whack with it.  
“Too late, dude! You could have slept earlier but instead you decided to spy on me. Lunch time.”  
“I was very much asleep.” Elijah grunted, without moving a muscle. “I only woke because you started climbing on me.”  
“I barely touched you! It’s not my fault you take up half the damn couch.”

Elijah proved he was only teasing by dragging himself off the couch and over to the kitchen counter a few minutes later. Micah followed after he’d put away every note into his box and stowed it in it’s usual place, at the back of the closet in his friend’s bedroom. He’d always felt it would be safer in Elijah’s care than stuck haphazardly on a shelf in his dorm room.

“It will be quite a workout to reach the bus stop from where we are right now.” Elijah told Micah when he joined him in the kitchen again. “The city, of course, does not send plows this deep into gang territory to clear the roads. We will have to make our way through the drifts on foot, so we will need to leave extra time to compensate.” He reached into a bowl and snapped off a sprig of grapes, handing them to Micah instead of letting him continue to paw at them from under his arm.

“Mm, thanks.” Micah grinned, munching on the fruit happily. “Damn, if I didn’t have a lab today I’d just skip. But it’s only a few blocks to the stop, we can muscle our way through.”

The two of them ate their meal of sandwiches, grapes, and potato chips before bundling up heavily against the winter weather. When Elijah opened the door, a waist-high wall of snow greeted them, and he made Micah stand back while he stamped down a little path leading down from the front of the apartment.

They both tried to take turns, one going ahead and stomping a trail into the snow before switching places, but after a few too many times of Micah losing his footing and disappearing into a drift, Elijah gave an amused sigh, lifted his protesting best friend into a piggy-back hold, and trudged forward. Micah gave up when his complaints were affectionately ignored, wrapped his arms around Elijah and stopped struggling, so he wouldn’t make things even more difficult. 

Less than a block from the bus stop, Micah heard Elijah’s phone give a crisp chime inside his coat pocket, and surprisingly, his best friend paused in his steps and glanced towards where the device rested at his hip. He turned his head just enough for Micah to make out the beginnings of a frown.

“What’s wrong?” Micah wondered as he was gently set on his feet, in the clearing that followed behind them. Elijah sighed, fishing for the device after pulling the glove off one hand. He pulled it out and glared a bit at the display.  
“One of my underground contacts. I believe I’ve mentioned him before; Travis Draught? I have different notifications assigned to different people and I recognized his.”

Micah pulled out his own cell to occupy himself, watching his best friend type out a reply, his frown increasing. “That’s the uhh… the moonbeacon dealer, right?”

“One of them. Travis manages a large operation and I have been working with him for quite some time. He was not supposed to contact me this week. I informed him very deliberately that I was going to be using the time afforded me from the school’s close to be making headway within gang circles. I have been giving him more of my time lately than is technically part of our agreement, and my supervisors in the gang are becoming impatient with me.”

Micah looked up from where he had been checking his email with a start. “They aren’t going to— to _punish_ you or anything, are they?”  
Elijah met his gaze in surprise, then his eyes softened immeasurably at the fearful look on his best friend’s face. 

“Oh, Micah, no, not like that.” His hand ruffled his curls and Micah relaxed with a sigh that misted into a cloud in the frigid air. “When I say they are getting impatient, I only mean I am not in their immediate good graces. That makes it harder for me to network at the street level.”

“Hey, El?” Micah’s gaze had dropped down to his phone again as soon as the relief had washed over him. He held up the device to show his best friend the email he’d pulled up. “Lab’s cancelled. Campus is staying closed for another day because they haven’t been able to clear the roads.”

“I don’t have time for this, Travis…” Elijah was muttering to himself, typing something else on his cell, when he seemed to register Micah’s words and looked down again. “Oh. Well, that is certainly fortunate. Would you like me to ride with you to Sasha’s house?”  
“Can’t I just head back to your place?”  
“Not alone. I can take you back, but I will likely be gone for most of the day. You might get bored there by yourself?”

Micah bit his lip. “This Travis guy… he’s not like, trying to get you involved in a fight or anything dangerous out of the blue, is he?”  
Elijah thumped him on the forehead, his expression soft with a smile. “My work with Travis rarely involves physical fighting. No, he is simply asking me to meet him at one of our rendezvous points and deliver something to him that I picked up from a gang-based organization last week.”  
“Do you have it on you?” Micah was curious now, lighting up when Elijah dug in his pocket for it. “What is it?”

“It is a keycard that will grant him access to one of the only major segments of the underground railway he has not had clearance to, until recently. I understand why he wants it as soon as possible,” Elijah gave Micah the card when he reached for it out of curiosity, “But the two of us will be seeing each other in passing tomorrow regarding another illicit matter. He should be able to wait.”

“Geez, it sounds like you really don’t like the guy.” Micah mused, turning the little card over in his hands. It was blank and off-white. There was no writing on it, no magnetic strip, no bar code. He couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t glance twice at the thing if he saw it on the ground somewhere. But having access to different routes of the underground railway was one of the most sought-after privileges among criminal groups; he knew that much from various tidbits he’d managed to squeeze out of Elijah from time to time. Unhindered travel on the railway spoke to having a lot of connections and a lot of power.

“Travis and I do not get along particularly well, no. But I have to give him some credit; he did agree to work with me directly despite my very young age when I began, and he is very respectful of Mary – to her face, at least. Mary connected me to Travis when I was seventeen and I was more or less a protege under him for three years before I applied to school and began building my own connections. He has another young protege now, Amelia, and I cannot stand the girl.”

Micah glanced up in surprise, brow raised. “That’s one of the meanest things I’ve ever heard you say, I think.”  
Elijah scowled at him. “If you knew her, you would understand where I am coming from.” His frown suddenly turned softer, more concerned. “You are starting to shiver, Micah. We need to decide whether you are heading back to the apartment or to Sasha’s, so that you can get inside and get warm.”  
“So you’re going to have to go meet Travis anyways?”

Elijah gave a tired sigh. “I believe so. I can simply inform my supervisors that the snow is preventing me from making my way to headquarters. Which is not entirely untrue; at this rate, even once I made it to a railway entrance, I would not be of much use with whatever would be left of the day.”  
“But it’s _not_ dangerous?”  
“To meet Travis? No, not at all. Annoying, perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.”  
Micah flashed a grin. “How bout I just come with you, then?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the utterly scandalized look that came over Elijah’s face, then his best friend’s expression hardened and his voice became stern.  
“That is _not_ what I meant and you know it.”  
“Aw, El, come on.” Micah handed him back the keycard, turning on his best puppy-dog eyes and pressing his advantage when Elijah’s glare faltered. “If it _really_ isn’t dangerous… I’ve always kind of wondered what your life is like when we’re not hanging out at school or your place. All I ever see of it is you coming back with bruises and stitches.” Micah paused for a moment to frown.

Elijah looked at him silently for a while, lips in a thin line, before he spoke. “If I agree to let you come, I do not want to regret it. You will need to stay very close to me, avoid speaking unless absolutely necessary, and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice in case of a sudden threat.”  
“Dude.” Micah held up his hands placatingly. “I’m not gonna be a dumbass about it, I swear. I’ll be really careful and let you tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. Promise.”

Elijah was quiet for another moment, then he nodded and took a slow, deep breath. “All right.” He visibly fought a smirk when Micah’s face lit up in response. “There is an entrance to the Underground about a block back the way we’ve come so far. So turn around-” He put a hand on Micah’s shoulder, giving him a nudge and Micah eagerly tramped back along the path Elijah had dug out of the snow behind them.

“Entrance? To the underground? You mean the railway, right?”  
“No. the railway is a different entity. The Underground is not just a metaphorical term, if you didn’t know. There are subterranean caverns beneath all of Central City, eroded out thousands of years ago by the same volcanic activity that formed the Lunalapis channel, and the Spire. The caverns, much like the railway, were once integrated into surface culture, then were left neglected by governmental agencies and were reclaimed by illicit circles. Not all of the caverns are in use of course, but there are several drug rings, black markets, and magic hubs to be found there. The railway connects a few of the most major ones, while others are traversed on foot.”

“I can’t believe this.” Micah breathed, looking up into Elijah’s face, getting a look of a gentle amusement in return. “You’re telling me there’s an entire _world_ down there? That no one knows about?”  
“Well, clearly _someone_ knows about it, as it is an ‘entire world’ down there.”  
Micah smacked Elijah on the arm in response to the teasing, but his best friend only laughed. 

The “entrance” Elijah led him to was a nondescript trapdoor, behind a stack of wooden crates, in an alley between two buildings on a seemingly random street corner that Micah would never have glanced twice at if he’d been walking past. He watched Elijah pry the door open with what seemed to be a fair amount of effort, even for him, then quickly followed the concrete steps down into a very dark stairwell. Elijah came down after him, holding the door up with one hand until he let it fall shut behind them with a loud slamming sound.

Micah reached for his phone to get the flashlight out, but Elijah caught his wrist before he even got his hand inside his pocket, and he frowned in protest. “Dude, I can’t see _anything_.”  
“I know, but you have a commercially available device, so I actually need you to turn it off before we move any further underground.” Elijah pulled out his own cell, turned on the light, and gave it to a blinking Micah with an apologetic smile.  
“Yikes. I didn’t even think about that.”

Micah turned his phone off and took his best friend’s hand as they made their way down the uneven, stony stairs. Elijah flinched in surprise when a cobweb caught in his hair, startling Micah, who then laughed, and the sound echoed off the walls in a strangely eerie way. 

The deeper they went, the more Micah struggled not to give into the slight nervousness he was getting at the feeling they were being buried alive. The sharp light from the phone penetrated only a short distance in front of them; highlighting rough edges of steps and dusty corners against the wall as they traipsed ever downwards in what felt like a narrow spiral. Micah took a few too many quick, shallow breaths, and felt Elijah give him some firm pats on the back.  
“Take deep breaths, Micah. We will be coming into a more open part of the caverns soon.”

Micah struggled to obey, sucking in a deeper lungful, and even before he finished letting it out, he could swear the heavy darkness around them was beginning to grow a little brighter. Within a few minutes, he could definitely tell they were heading towards light, and not only that, it was getting _warmer_. 

It was downright startling when, suddenly, the walls around them opened up, and Micah found himself, with jaw agape, staring across a vast expanse of crystal.

Their stairway descended down to the floor of the cavern, wrapped around a crystal spar at the base that was wider than a man was tall. The floor underfoot crunched with glinting stones that sparkled under the light of huge torches that lined the walls. Floating orbs of brilliant magic illuminated the huge space even further, and the rocky, hilly landscape was scored through with chiseled paths that glinted with stone facets. All throughout the arena, between crystals that stretched from floor to ceiling and were so blue they could put the sky to shame, were the stalls and booths of hundreds of merchants and peddlers. It was an absolute madhouse.

Micah couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away or pick his jaw up off the floor until he felt strong hands hook under his shoulders and found himself nimbly lifted and carried off to the side, just as a group of rowdy Avesians hustled past. Once he’d been set on his feet again, Micah turned to look up into Elijah’s smiling eyes, feeling that his own must be as wide as saucers.  
“ _This?_ ” He squeaked out, taking off his scarf after a moment of hesitation. It was quite warm down in the cavern. “ _This_ is the Underground?”

“A portion of it.” Elijah answered, reaching out and unzipping Micah’s coat after unfastening the buttons of his own. “This cavern contains one of the larger black market spaces for the Underground. Technology, food, medicine, luxury items, and innumerable curiosities make up the economy. Also, one can seek out contracts with unsavory, but skilled individuals in places like these. Bodyguards, hitmen, hired thieves; the list goes on.”

Micah had gotten hung up on one very specific part of said list. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of something incredibly savory. “Did you say food? Goddesses, is that what smells so fucking good?”

Elijah chuckled. “Of course you would notice that. Yes, the culinary scene is quiet diverse. Surface culture is heavily human-centric. Fusion cuisine is popular in Underground circles and enables people groups such as Avesians, Saurolins, and Feliken to trade seasonings and techniques. Sometimes even the occasional Fae or Halar dish can be found.”

Micah struggled to keep up, feeling his tummy start to growl a little. “Halar only live on the mainland.”  
“Hmm. That is what governmental officials want you to think. I know, for certain, of a Halar individual living in the eastern subterranean tunnels of Central City itself, though I have never met him. However, the leader of my gang, Raul Tenner, is descended from a line of human and Halar.”  
Micah was momentarily distracted from the prospect of getting a hearty snack, looking up into Elijah’s face in astonishment. “Is he taller than you?”  
“Quite.”  
Something in his best friend’s tone made Micah frown a little and give him a sideways look. “You don’t like him much, huh?”  
Elijah’s gaze fell and he looked away, then gave a shallow sigh. “He terrifies me.”

The words rooted Micah to the ground for a moment and his thoughts whirled. It took a few more seconds for it to make sense — that beating. Raul Tenner would have given the order to have Elijah beaten, left out on the streets in a bloody, broken heap. Something hot curled around Micah’s heart and his teeth gritted of their own accord. Maybe it was dumb since he’d certainly never met this allegedly huge man face-to-face, but for a moment all he could think was that he’d gladly tear “Raul Tenner” into little, brutish shreds if he ever happened to cross paths with him.

But those thoughts dusted away as Micah decided the best way to respond to this was to continue insisting on food and watch Elijah’s eyes light up with amusement and affection again. So he tugged on his sleeve and grinned up at him.  
“Can we get food while we’re down here? I want to try this ‘fusion cuisine’ or whatever the hell you were on about.”

Elijah raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Micah, you do not have the most… diverse tastes, to be quite honest.”  
Micah scowled. “What are you talking about? I grew up in like ten different households! I’ve eaten a ton of different kinds of food.”  
“You don’t like spicy things; or stronger tastes in general, really. Potent seafood puts you off. As does blue cheese, kefir—“  
“Kefir is rotten milk, so you can shut up. Shit, what’s _your_ favorite thing to eat down here? Could I at least try that?”

Elijah dug in his pocket, pulled out a handful of ren pieces and counted them, then beckoned to Micah and began to lead him into the throng of the marketplace. “My favorite dish ‘down here’ is rockrat stew.” He looked back down at Micah with a knowing smile as his best friend struggled not to make a face.  
“I’m gonna try it, stop giving me that look! As long as it’s not gonna like… turn me into a werewolf or anything, right?”

Elijah laughed aloud, seeming to completely lose his composure for a brief moment. “Where in the world did you hear _that_?”  
“Crystal Fever! If you die from Crystal Fever, you come back as an undead werewolf.”

Elijah stopped them both in a small clearing between two stalls. “First of all, Crystal Fever and lycanthropy have _not_ been proven to be connected. Secondly, individuals afflicted with lycanthropy are not undead, I believe you are getting that mixed up with vampirism. Thirdly, Crystal Fever is only contracted through eating undercooked, infected rockrats. You would never find anyone in a community like this using infected rockrats to make stew, because the putrid appearance of the meat would ruin an entire batch. They have businesses to run; just because they are not government regulated does not mean they don’t have standards.”  
“Okay, I’m done being lectured now.” Micah grumped. “Let’s just get the fucking stew.”

Elijah led him to a booth, managed by a friendly Feliken woman, with a noticeable notch in one ear and a toothy smile. She served them huge bowls for the handful of ren pieces Elijah gave her, and thanked them profusely upon being told to keep the change. A few minutes later, Elijah had shooed Micah off to the side of one of the major pathways, to an outcropping of crystal where he settled with his own meal and waited for his friend to sit down beside him.

“So do we return these bowls when we’re done with them or what?” Micah asked, stalling a bit as he stirred the food around with the unwieldy spoon in hand. Both the utensil and the dish looked as they were carved from stone, and they were believably heavy to match. Elijah swallowed the mouthful he’d already taken, looking like he was enjoying it, before answering.

“Yes, there are communal tables at regular intervals between food stalls where customers can leave their empty dishes. Try it, Micah. I promise it is not going to give you Crystal Fever or otherwise affect you negatively in any way, unless you simply don’t like it.”

Micah gave an irritated sigh, dug his spoon more determinedly into the food, and lifted a steaming mouthful.

The stew looked rich just at a _glance_. The broth was thick and dense with speckles of herbs and seasonings. Thinly diced vegetables filled the spaces between pulled pieces of dark meat and the aroma that wafted up from the bowl was mouth-watering. Micah’s tummy growled in earnest just before he stuffed the first mouthful past his lips and began to chew. The sandwich he’d had back at El’s place was fine for a small lunch, but he’d really worked up an appetite climbing through the snow.

The taste that washed over his senses was _incredible_. He realized the stew wasn’t just thick, it was _creamy_ ; dotted with droplets of gravy that soaked in the juices of the shredded rockrat meat. Speaking of which, the meat was almost melt-in-his mouth tender. He barely had to chew, until it came to the vegetables, which were crunchy with seeds and crisp florets. Micah gave what was probably a very impolite moan of pleasure and scooped up another bite eagerly. He could feel Elijah smiling at him.

There were unusual tastes in the food too; flavors he couldn’t put a name to. There was something saucy but crisp, and something else buttery, almost toasty. They weren’t overpowering flavors, only hints, but he couldn’t imagine what they’d be. His mouth was still full when he glanced up at Elijah again, but before he’d even managed to swallow, his best friend understood the unspoken question and answered.

“You are tasting two seasonings, brownseed and frothen, that are heavily regulated above-ground, so they are typically only seen among the very elite.”  
“It’s so _good_.” Micah sighed, scraping up another mouthful and feeling it settle heavily in his belly. He stifled a small burp and shifted his weight, testing how full his tummy felt. He had plenty of room, but this stew was going to really fill him up for how much it was and how dense. But now his curiosity was absolutely afire. “What else is down here?”

“There is a specific kind of pastry I think you would like. It is based on a fae-cultivated fruit and is very popular among children. I personally enjoy a particular snack food made from roasted legumes and cured siltmeat. There are dishes made from Shad-esh, Oogra, and Vil.”  
“I understood basically none of that.” Micah laughed, wiping his fingers on a napkin that Elijah handed him out of his coat pocket. “Geez, why is so much of this stuff restricted if it’s so good and safe to eat?”

“Well, not all of it _is_ technically safe to eat. I know my way around the cuisine very well and can steer you away from anything harmful, but there are some herbs from Saurolin and Feliken cultures especially that are rather difficult for humans to digest. Snakethistle and Mirefew are a couple that come to mind; they would give you a severe stomachache and probably leave you sick for a day or more. I don’t believe there’s anything deathly poisonous to be had, at least not among food-specific crops, but the government also restricts access to these sorts of things because cross-cultural sharing is something that threatens their control. People groups communing and working together, setting up trades of personal interest — they need to have a flock of citizens that are wholly dependent on the lies they spew.”

“Damn, you sound so bitter.” Micah sighed, then felt a sharp spark of guilt when he saw Elijah’s expression close off. He’d meant that as a joke, sort of. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in an ass way.” He spooned up the last bit of his stew, chewed the mouthful slowly to savor it, then swallowed and dropped the spoon back in the empty bowl. “Can we try some of those pastries?”  
A flicker of a smile returned to his best friend’s face. “Of course, Micah.”

For the next hour or more, Micah asked eager questions and followed Elijah around to all the different food stalls and booths the marketplace had to offer. He tried the pastry dessert, then wolfed down three more; they were too amazing to eat just one. Each consisted of soft, flaky layers interspersed with cream and slivers of fruit that he could swear tasted like malted chocolate, but with something crisper, fresher about it. They were dusted with nutmeg and toasted with a magic flame.

Micah hiccuped faintly once he’d finished his last one, groaning a little and waiting for Elijah’s hands to circle his waist and begin rubbing his tummy for him, but his best friend merely asked if he was feeling alright, and didn’t touch him.

Feeling confused and trying _not_ to feel anxious, Micah told him he was fine but that he was beginning to get incredibly thirsty. That comment got him dragged to a well-like fixture near the center of the floor, where Elijah personally drew up a bucket of water for him, and the bucket itself was made of _crystal_. The water from the well was so sweet and cold, Micah probably gulped down a little too much of it before Elijah had a chance to stop him, giving him a look of mild concern, heavy with humor. Micah hoped the sloshing in his tummy wasn’t too noticeable as he pressed both hands over the swell and asked about the snack food that Elijah had mentioned earlier.

He was getting so _full_. He wasn’t sure how much more he could eat; his tummy felt bloated with rich, unfamiliar foods that gave him a little bit of an ache, no matter how delicious they’d been. But he did want to keep trying things, and he was really beginning to wonder why Elijah hadn’t sat him down and given him a belly rub or a cuddle like he usually did whenever Micah started groaning. Had he made his best friend really mad? What was going on?

He had to stifle some more small belches before Elijah agreed to purchase a small container of his favorite snack food for Micah, and it was immensely worth it. The legumes weren’t peanuts, as Micah had assumed they were, but some sort of heavy, meaty plant that Elijah explained were popular in Halar culture. They were blackened with shavings from siltmeat — the skin of silt skinks from the volcanic area near the southern peninsula, and they were so robust and powerfully flavored that Micah couldn’t help but go back for another sweet pastry to balance out the taste. And another. The combination of soft, sugary bites interspersed with stout pieces of the hearty snack were irresistible to the point that Micah didn’t realize that each breath he took was starting to twinge in his tummy, until a little cramp squeezed through his insides and he groaned, halting in his tracks behind Elijah who immediately turned around to face him, looking expectantly concerned.

“That’s it, I’m full.” Micah moaned helplessly, handing what was left of the snack mix back to Elijah, who pocketed the container as Micah wrapped his hands under the bulge of his _very_ stuffed tummy and tried to massage away the ache for himself. “I think I need to sit down for a minute…”

“Alright, there is a clear ledge just off the side of this nearest row.” Elijah gestured to the set of booths closest to them. “While we are here, I actually could stand to drop off an errand for someone else, and I would prefer not to have you with me when I see them, because I do not entirely trust them. Would you be able to sit down and wait for me? I should be right back.”

Micah looked longingly up into Elijah’s face, feeling something close to panic. That was not the reaction he had been expecting (or hoping for) at all. But Elijah only looked back with an odd sort of impassiveness, and Micah sighed, letting his gaze drop.  
“Yeah, I can do that. Just be quick about it, ‘kay?”  
“Of course. Wait for me right here, try not to wander off.” Elijah patted his shoulder once, almost _formally_ , then turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Micah stared after him for a long moment, feeling tears begin to prick at his eyes, and tried to blink them away. There _had_ to be a reason Elijah was acting so distant. He didn’t _seem_ angry, at least.

Micah’s attention was abruptly drawn back to his tummy when it gave a low, strained gurgle, and he echoed it with another slight groan, palming over the swell with one hand and tried to rub little circles over the front of his sweater. It didn’t help as much as when Elijah did it, but he managed to push up a few of the burps he’d been holding in, and decided he’d walk around for another minute or two before sitting down. If he planted himself right now, he’d not be able to stop squirming under the weight of his stuffed belly.

He stayed on the row that Elijah had indicated, walking up and down the aisle and looking at some of the different stalls. These weren’t food vendors; they almost seemed to be craftsmen? There were wooden carvings and decorative stones with rune markings on them. One booth was nearly overflowing with beautifully hand-woven dreamcatchers. An elderly Avesian man smiled at him from behind the table, and Micah couldn’t resist, he pulled out some of the ren pieces that Elijah had given him to hold onto for his food-adventure, and bought a little worry-stone that fit in the palm of his hand, with the perfect indent for his thumb. It looked like it was made from moon crystal.

The last stall at the end of the row seemed different from the rest, and Micah found himself pausing there as well, out of curiosity. Dried herbs hung in bundles from the awning, and open crates out front held a variety of strange-looking fruits that he’d never seen before. A bowl of incense burned low on a table, filling the air with a smokey, perfumed scent, almost making him feel drowsy. When he was approached by the Saurolin who appeared to manage it, he grinned and gestured to one of the crates of fruit.

“What are these called?” He asked curiously, peering at the misty blue drupes with red leaves and stems.  
The woman cocked her head, slitted pupils glinting in confusion. “See’ouu li. Mivees, le’alssia.”

“Aw, damn, I’m sorry, I don’t speak—“ Micah sighed, shaking his head. Carefully, so he wouldn’t bruise the fruit, he picked one up and held it out hopefully. She smiled in understanding and held up two scaled fingers.   
Micah reached into his pocket, scooped out two ren pieces and held them up, and she nodded, taking the coins and waving at him with another smile.

Micah wandered a short distance away, eyeing the fruit curiously and wondering if he could get it down, despite feeling his tummy grumbling against his other hand. It was _really_ small, smaller than a plum from a normal grocery store. He’d just decided he could manage these last few bites and lifted the fruit towards his mouth when he heard a panicked shout from somewhere behind him and turned his head.

As soon as he recognized Elijah’s broad chest, the fruit was yanked from his grasp and he lifted his eyes the rest of the way, looking up into his best friend’s flashing blue eyes. Elijah was breathing heavily, and Micah didn’t even have time to open his mouth when—

“Micah, where did you _get_ this?” Elijah brandished the fruit in front of him sternly.  
Micah gaped up at him. “What are you—“  
“This is _not_ something you can eat, Micah! It would make you sicker than you’ve ever been in your _life_. Where did you get it?”

Stunned, Micah simply pointed in the direction of the stall, and Elijah turned his head to look over his shoulder. His expression calmed after a moment, and he looked back, taking a very deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Micah, that is a _magic_ stall. Not a food vendor. Those fruits and herbs are used in potion making. They are not meant for consumption.” He held held up the fruit again and looked into Micah’s gaze with still-fading horror. “You cannot simply eat whatever crosses your path down here. I imagine I would have had to take you to a hospital if you had eaten something like this. Don’t _scare_ me like that.”

Micah laughed thickly, feeling a little horrified himself, immensely grateful both that Elijah had stopped him, and seemed to have broken some of his cold exterior, though it also looked like it was falling back into place as they spoke. “Well, shit.”  
“Yes. Shit.” Elijah startled another laugh out of Micah with a rare curse, then he turned and with a flick of his wrist, sent the fruit sailing into the wall of the cavern where it smattered upon impact.   
  
“I guess it makes sense that they’d sell poison down here.”  
“Potions are typically used as medicine.” Elijah smiled vaguely at Micah’s confused look. “Magic as a healing practice is far more common in Underground circles than in surface culture. When you have an entire community of people who cannot risk being detained at a medical institution, you have to look for solutions that are far less regulated and restricted.”

Micah was nodding, realizing that made sense, when his tummy rumbled irritably again and another groan slipped past his teeth. “El… are you mad at me or something?” He tried not to pout too blatantly. “I could really use a tummy rub right about now. Or like, also thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh, Micah, no, of course not.” Elijah’s voice softened immensely with affection. “I did not realize that you were not aware of this, but I cannot be openly tactile with you in areas such as this one. If you looked too… helpless…” Blue eyes tightened, “You could encounter any number of threats.” His best friend’s voice dipped even more apologetically. “I have been wondering if you really have been feeling alright. Does your stomach hurt?”

With the most casual air he seemed able to muster, Elijah put an arm around Micah and patted his side, pressing in and rubbing with his fingertips for just a moment against the bulge at his middle before letting his arm fall away again. The gesture didn’t last for more than a few seconds, and to a stranger, might have looked entirely casual and cordial. Elijah was good at this. But Micah could only think then about how much he wanted to sit down and get an _actual_ rub.

“Not really, I’m just so stuffed.” He complained mildly, lifting one hand again to support his tummy, even though it did ache a fair amount just from how full he was. He was relieved though, beyond measure, that Elijah was just putting on a stoic act to keep him safe. His earlier anxiety and tears suddenly seemed silly. “When is this Travis guy gonna show up so we can get home?”

“I am not actually certain when he will be here.” Elijah answered, digging in his pocket, then pulled out his keys. “It is rarely wise to inform someone, even someone you theoretically trust, where you will be and when. It is easier to track your whereabouts if anyone but you knows such things ahead of time. Travis and I, and many of my other illicit contacts, have a mutual sort of understanding about these things. But here, come with me. We can go somewhere safe and I can ask Travis to meet us there.”

“Sounds good to me.” Micah groaned a little, falling into step behind his best friend. “Just curious though, why didn’t we go there first if it’s safer?”  
Elijah smiled genuinely for a moment before the impassiveness returned. “I wanted you to see the marketplace.”

Micah followed Elijah away from the stalls and booths and along a winding path. It led to a narrow tunnel off the main portion of the cavern, and Micah paused warily as he eyed the ceiling where the crystal spars grew larger, glinting from the distant glow of magic and flame.

“Is your stomach starting to hurt?” Elijah stopped and looked back towards him, worry flickering in his eyes. Micah quickly shook his head.  
“It’s not that. Isn’t it just—“ He glanced up at the crystals again. “Dangerous? Going into tunnels with the crystals around them like this?”

Elijah looked baffled for a moment, then his lips twitched in amusement. “Oh. Are you referring to the urban legends about the Lunalapis channel?”  
Micah gaped at him. “What do you mean, urban legends? They teach that stuff in school!”  
“About the crystals that grow so quickly, they will close up entire pathways in a matter of minutes? Crush animals? Trap people?”  
“Are you trying to tell me all that is _fake?_ ”

“Not fake.” Elijah held out a hand and clasped Micah’s when he reached to take it. Apparently, they were far enough from the main part of the cavern that his best friend felt he could begin letting his guard down. “No, such rapid crystal growth is entirely possible in some parts of the caverns. But not here, Micah. And certainly not in the legally-accessible areas of Lunalapis. There is a magic vein that runs through the country in exactly the same way the channel does. Only places where the magic vein and the crystal channel cross are where that phenomena manifests. You would have to travel very deep and for many hours before you would be in danger of being trapped or crushed by crystal growth.”

“Have you ever been deep enough to see it?” Micah asked softly as he let Elijah tug him gently forwards.  
“I have. A while ago now, but yes, I have. It is just as terrifying as it is beautiful. But it does not have to be feared, so long as one pays attention and stays to a given path.”

The tunnel’s uneven stone floor became more dense with crystal growth the further they went, but none of it moved or changed shape no matter how hard Micah stared as they passed. After several minutes of walking, the lights from the marketplace behind them faded and left them in the soft glow of luminescent stones. Soon, the ceiling began to rise again, and abruptly, Micah looked up, taking a breath in astonishment.

They’d stopped where the cavern became high and wide again, disappearing upwards into a murky blackness, with hanging pillars of crystal and stone stalagmites looming ominously above and below. Three train cars, looking so bizarrely out of place that it was unsettling, were scattered around the cavern; one on its side, one completely overturned and crumpled inwards at one corner, and one sitting off by itself - right side up and wheels removed. It was towards that one that Elijah led him, and as Micah got closer, he could make out a padlock on the door, and noticed the metal of the car was cleaner, less rusty than he would have expected. 

Elijah unlocked it, pocketed his keys again, and gripped the handle, grunting a little with the effort to slide the heavy door aside. Micah cringed a little at the loud scraping sound, then grinned when he was scooped up in gentle arms and sat carefully on edge of the car’s interior, for minimum tummy jostling. Elijah climbed up beside him just after, then went further into the car, and within moments, Micah could hear a match being struck. The small space glowed to life as his best friend lit an oil lamp, and Micah beamed, instantly feeling cozy and safe.

“One of your hideouts?” He guessed, taking Elijah’s hand when it was offered and pulling himself to his feet with a huff. There was a very low, cushioned seat pushed against one side of the car, and he let himself be shooed towards it and settled down with a sigh, chuckling happily when Elijah immediately curled up next to him, wrapping him in a hug and pressing his hands over his middle. Micah groaned with relief. He’d actually begun to get rather sore from walking so much even while feeling so full.

“Yes, I’ve had access to this car for a couple of years now; however I was not the one who set it up, originally.” Elijah answered him, focused on rubbing deep, soothing circles over Micah’s stuffed tummy and sides. He’d slid his hands up underneath his sweater, and his palms were rough and warm and his fingers massaged out little twinges and hints of cramps, stroking over the bulge of his upper belly. It felt so good that Micah had to struggle to stay awake.

The hideout wasn’t lushly furnished by any means, Micah noticed as he looked around a little, but it seemed very functional. There was the seat they were on, not quite a couch; maybe a little more like a futon with extra padding. There was a cot layered with a few blankets in one corner, with a pillow at the head and a tiny square table next to it, where the oil lamp sat, casting its light over the room. On the other side of the car, a folding table had been draped with a thin cloth, and two chairs were arranged next to it. Some cans of food were stacked on one corner, and a big, clear container held what looked like fresh, clean water. A plastic set of shelves off to the side had cups and bowls and silverware. A big, wooly rug covered the floor. It was very dusty but it felt nice underfoot, even through his winter boots.

“Ooh.” He suddenly had to refocus on his tummy as it gave a protesting gurgle, and Elijah’s expression turned a little worried as Micah began to squirm. “Maybe I did eat a little too much.”  
“You didn’t eat anything else you couldn’t recognize, did you?” Elijah asked quickly, his thumbs working in circles under Micah’s ribs, smoothing out a bit of tension and easing the ache slightly.  
Micah pouted. “I don’t think so.”  
“Do you notice any unusual pain? Where does it hurt most?”  
“Just all over.” Micah sighed at the feeling of Elijah’s hand stroking over the curve of his tummy reassuringly. “And it doesn’t hurt that bad, not really. I just feel stuffed, El. I don’t think I’m sick off any weird shit or whatever.”  
“Alright.” His best friend rested a cheek over his curls after pressing a kiss to his forehead comfortingly. “Just try to relax, then. We should be able to head home before too long.”

Micah was starting to feel better by the time the crunch of footsteps on gravel outside made Elijah stiffen and glance towards the door warily. He tugged Micah’s shirt back down, giving his tummy one final pat that helpfully dislodged a small belch, then stood and grabbed a quilt from the bed. He came back to the futon and tucked it over Micah, hiding his swollen, stuffed belly in a way that was so cozy, Micah worried he might fall asleep even with these strange people approaching. 

“Micah, I will have to behave differently than you are used to seeing me while Travis and Amelia are here.” Elijah told him softly, standing back up and distancing himself towards the center of the car. “If you say anything to them, try not to imply that we are very close or that you are entirely unfamiliar with most aspects of the Underground. Do not call me ‘El’ or swear at me until they are gone.”

“Wow. Okay.” Micah nodded solemnly, trying to decipher why any of that would be dangerous, but figured he could ask later. “I’ll just try to keep my mouth shut, in general.” He hiccuped a little and glared down at where his belly rumbled inaudibly under the blanket, folding his hands over the heavy feeling and tried to lean back and look nonchalant. He was so stuffed and sleepy.

“Also.” Elijah’s serious expression slipped slightly as he looked over his shoulder back at Micah, a hint of deep amusement in his eyes. “Try to stay awake.”

Micah had barely closed his mouth again after sticking his tongue out at Elijah when loud, dirty laughter echoed outside, and a meaty hand grabbed the inside of the door of the train car. Elijah snapped to attention almost like a solider; squaring his shoulders, hardening his gaze, as a man of average height hefted himself inside. He had a paunch but his arms were solid and brawny, and there was a crafty gleam in his dark eyes. His hair was dark brown, messy, and greasy, and a scraggly beard covered his chin, highly unkempt. He grinned patronizingly at Elijah and Micah, and opened his mouth as though to speak, when a lithe young woman hopped up into the space behind him and darted forwards, nearly sending him off-balance.

“How _precious!_ ” The girl crooned, flitting over on light feet to stand in front of where Micah sat, leaning down on the armrest of the futon with one hand and tracing a fingertip over Micah’s cheek as he squawked in protest and tried to pull away. “You brought a little friend with you! What an absolute _darling!_ ” Her hair was black, shiny, and straight, her eyes were thin and she had slight features. She looked Riehlan.

“Amelia.”

Micah and Amelia both turned their heads towards Elijah at the same moment, and Micah caught his breath, feeling a strange sense of fear creeping over him. Elijah looked positively _deadly_. He was bristling with aggression, teeth clenched in a snarl, muscular shoulders rippling with barely-restrained fury. He looked like he could snatch Amelia up in a moment and snap her in half. “Leave him be. You are not to lay a _hand_ on him, do I make myself clear?”

“Aww, big boy’s a little possessive is he?” She sang, dancing back over and reaching out, touching Elijah’s hand as though she’d lace their fingers together, but he jerked away as though he’d been burned and took an adamant step back.

“You should know better by now than to give yourself away so damn easily, kid.” Travis chortled deeply, glancing derisively in Micah’s direction. “Anyone would be able to tell this one is your weak point after a display like that.”

Micah decided he didn’t like these people either.

“Enough. Travis, I have the keycard you asked me to bring.” Elijah reached into a pocket and drew out the little blank plastic square, holding it out for Travis to take it. Amelia snatched it out of his grasp before the other man even moved, tilting it against the light and peering at it.

“So how _did_ you get ahold of this?” Amelia beamed, handing it off to Travis a moment later and clasping her hands behind her back. “I was under the impression that it was being held for ransom. Unfairly, of course.”

Elijah sighed and looked at the ceiling, and Travis laughed, shooting Amelia a yellow grin. “Oh, you didn’t know? Brayler is an _excellent_ pickpocket. That’s how you made your name back in the day originally, wasn’t it, kid?”  
“Before coming to work for you, yes.” Elijah answered through clearly gritted teeth.  
“You were in a satellite gang of Tenner’s for several years, weren’tcha?”  
“Three years.”  
“Ah. It doesn’t surprise me that the old lady took notice of your talents so readily. She sure talked you up when—“

“ _Amelia_.”

Micah huffed a sigh of relief when his best friend noticed the menace of the young woman in the car with them slowly creeping back over in his direction, a gleam of fascination in her eyes, as though Micah were a piece of meat to inspect or a strange insect to dissect. Elijah nearly seethed with rage.

“I will not repeat myself again. Do not touch him, do not go _near_ him. Your errand is finished, regardless.” Elijah threw Travis a vicious look. “Shouldn’t you be on your way?”

Micah shivered at the dangerous look that glinted in Travis’ eyes in response to that comment, though Elijah didn’t even flinch. Contempt rattled out on Travis’ words, behind his filthy grin.

“You had better watch your mouth, boy.”  
Elijah gave him a very, very long look. Slowly, he lifted a hand, gesturing softly in Micah’s direction.  
“Eshvi.” He said. And suddenly, Travis’ expression went blank, and he rocked back on the soles of his feet.  
“Oh.” The man said quietly. 

The train car was dead silent for several heartbeats. Then Amelia piped up brightly. “Alright boys, spill the beans, what’s up with your secret code word?”  
“That’s none of your fucking business, young lady.” Travis snapped, and the girl rolled her eyes, tossing her hair.  
“I’ll just get it out of big boy later.”  
“You will not.” Elijah countered angrily, not even glancing in her direction.

Micah sat back, watching them all with nothing short of bewilderment.

Everything about the way the three of them interacted made his skin crawl. Every word was harshly spoken, every gesture either abrasive or mocking. But it was all done with a suffocating sense of familiarity, like the most dysfunctional, fucked up set of family dynamics he’d ever seen. Amelia behaved like an annoying little sister… Elijah, like an older brother with no patience for her antics. Travis — he was the furthest thing from a _father_ that Micah could imagine, but maybe a weird sort of uncle? Elijah clearly only respected him based on hierarchy alone.

Micah was kind of worried about his best friend, if he were honest. He snuck another glance in Elijah’s direction, and the coldness in those normally gentle blue eyes was so alien, it was deeply unsettling. He was holding himself as if he expected to launch into an attack at any moment.  
He looked… he looked like a dangerous criminal.

Travis and Elijah were talking more quietly now, something that sounded like strategic planning to Micah’s ears, though he couldn’t follow their exact conversation. His gaze flitted over warily to where Amelia was inspecting the entire train car, displacing food cans and knocking extra blankets off a high shelf. He grimaced and wondered if it was somehow part of her “street persona” to act like a bratty child. She was clearly at least his and Elijah’s age, if not older by a couple of years.

Micah heard Elijah sigh and looked back over, watching him shake his head and wave a hand at Travis, turning away. The man’s expression was unreadable, but he gave a sharp whistle and Amelia turned to look at him.

“Alright gal, let’s get going. No rest for the wicked.” Travis gripped the door of the train car and stepped down outside again, peering back through the opening to glare at Amelia. “Chop, chop.”

“Can’t I at least say goodbye to my new friend?” She wheedled, giggling and skipping back over to Micah on the couch in the blink of an eye. She’d just laid a hand lovingly on his cheek, eyes half-lidded and serene, when suddenly, Elijah barreled into her, knocking her off her feet and pinning her to the wall. She cried out and in an instant, Micah forgot how to breathe.

“Are you going to continue to test my patience, _Amelia?_ ” The stranger holding her bellowed, blue eyes glowing with a furious light. Huge hands curled around her slender neck, hatred crackled through the air in waves, and the girl whined pitifully and struggled futilely. “If you _ever_ dare touch him again, you will not walk away, do you understand me?”

“You’re so mean, Elijah.” She moaned, shrill in a way that grated on the eardrums, cut through the haze of terror surrounding Micah and his pounding heart. The beat thudded in his full belly as he watched helplessly. Someone had taken his best friend and replaced him with someone malevolent and powerful. He couldn’t recognize those eyes.

Travis suddenly began to laugh, a boisterous sound, and locked gazes with Micah, who felt frozen in place. “You don’t know your own friend very well, do you, boy? Ah, don’t fret so much. He _did_ warn her twice. That’s twice more than I would have.”

In the time it took Travis to speak, Elijah had let Amelia go, stepping back and glaring at her forbiddingly as she shot him an insolent look and made her way back over to the train car door. She jumped down to the ground outside and walked away without even looking back at Travis.  
The man gave Elijah and Micah a mocking salute. “See you later, Brayler. Say hi to Raul for me, if you see him.” 

He turned and disappeared into the murk of the dark cavern outside. Elijah was silent and still for another long moment, then he took a deep breath, knelt by the couch next to Micah, and rubbed a hand gently over the curve of the blanket where his stuffed tummy was grumbling softly, a little upset from all the excitement.

“Are you alright, Micah?” His best friend asked softly, and Micah settled in relief when he looked him in the eyes. He could see Elijah again.  
“I’m okay. That was fucked up as hell, though.” He scolded, and Elijah smiled apologetically.   
“I’m sorry you had to see that. Do you think you are up to walking back home?”

Micah started to push the blanket off and Elijah helped him, folding it back and taking his wrist, helping him to his feet. He pressed a warm hand to Micah’s waist to steady him when he took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I wanna get out of here. El?” He lifted his gaze as his best friend ruffled his curls affectionately. “What did you mean by Eshvi? Is that the same name as the brightest star?”

Elijah looked back at him quietly, folding up the blanket with one hand and tossing it to the side. He pulled Micah into one of his big, sheltering hugs, holding him closely and giving him a gentle squeeze that wouldn’t hurt his tummy.  
“I’m sorry, Micah.” Elijah whispered. “That’s between me and Travis.”

-

“So do all of those keys unlock different places around the city?” Micah wondered aloud after Elijah nudged him through the apartment door and shut it behind them, fastening the chain and a couple of the deadbolts.

“Not all of them. Many, though.” Elijah pulled off his coat and hung it up before helping Micah out of his. “Some of them are hideouts I arranged myself, some I more or less inherited from Mary, and others are communal areas that are shared between myself and a few other individuals. It helps to have places to stop to eat and sleep when out on the streets for days at a time.”

“I’ll bet.” Micah remembered the first time he’d followed his best friend into one of those hideouts; a cozy little safehouse in the depths of the inner city. He’d been struggling for weeks with his warring perceptions of Elijah. He had completely bought into the media’s propaganda about the gangs, and saw them as violent, heartless rogues — but then to be confronted with the knowledge that Elijah was one of them? His entire world had shifted. Elijah had been patient and kind even when Micah _hadn’t_ been. He couldn’t make sense of it. So he’d finally gone, stupidly, on foot, to the heart of the inner city looking for his friend, and had nearly been killed for trespassing. 

Elijah had been following him the entire time, worried for him but unsure if Micah would want to see him, and then when the hammer came down, swooped in to save him like he always did, getting his face and hands bloodied for the trouble, then had stumbled away, Micah in tow. They went to a cramped room in the basement of a dilapidated building, where Micah had been surprised to find a warm bed, a sink with clean, running water, and a medical kit that Elijah had quickly made use of. It was the first time too, that he’d known the safety and warmth of Elijah’s arms for longer than a quick embrace. It was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever gotten in his life.

“Micah, what are you doing?” Elijah sounded amused from where he’d just arranged himself on the couch amidst the pillows. “Come here and sit down.”  
“I’m freezing every single one of my fucking toes off.” Micah complained, rubbing at his nose which was red and sore from the cold wind. “I want hot chocolate!” He finished pouring the packet of instant mix into the mug he’d gotten down, and retrieved the milk from the fridge.  
“You are going to upset your stomach.” Elijah warned gently. “You should wait a bit longer before drinking something so rich.”  
“I’ll be okay! I feel way better anyways.” Micah stuck the mug in the microwave and hit the hot drink setting, standing back with a spoon in hand to watch it heat up.

When the mug was steaming and stirred well and he’d dumped a respectable number of mini marshmallows into it, Micah took it over to the couch and tucked himself happily into Elijah’s open arms. He blew at the top of the drink for a moment before guzzling about a quarter of it in one go, licking sweet foam from his lips and leaning back with a sigh. The warm, heavy drink settled in his belly and he felt his eyelids drooping.

Elijah was petting his hair, stroking his curls affectionately, and it seemed cruel to ruin the mood with how cozy they both were, but Micah couldn’t hold the question in any longer.  
“El? Why’d you get so… violent, with Amelia like that? She didn’t hurt me or anything.”

Elijah didn’t miss a beat. “I did not hurt her either.” He answered calmly, still playing with Micah’s hair. “I threatened her, and I got physically rough with her, but I did not injure her or cause her any real pain. I promise, she walked away without so much as a scratch or a bruise.” Elijah sighed deeply. “Micah, I have seen that girl flay a man’s hand down to the bone in a matter of seconds, after behaving exactly the same way with him as she was with you. I am not sure if you noticed, but she keeps blades hidden in her sleeves and can make use of them in the blink of an eye.” He reached over and patted Micah’s tummy gently when it gave a faint rumble. “In Underground circles, you cannot let people throw their weight around with no pushback, or they will stretch the boundaries further and further until they _do_ hurt you, and it will feel as though you never saw it coming. To be meek in the face of teasing and prodding is to invite more vicious behaviors. You must make yourself into a threat preemptively to avoid what could turn into far more dangerous confrontations.”

“Oh.” Micah breathed softly.  
He wasn’t sure what else to say. It had just been so startling, to see his best friend act like that. He glanced up bashfully into Elijah’s gaze, feeling relieved when only affection and amusement looked back at him. “I guess it makes sense, when you put it like that. You really think she would have—“ Micah swallowed nervously. “Cut me up?”

“I highly doubt it. I’m certain she knows I would have killed her instantly if she’d even dared to draw a knife. But I can never be sure with Amelia, and I would much rather be sure when it comes to you.” Elijah snugged him a bit. “I like you better in one piece.”

That surprised a laugh out of Micah, but the sudden movement sent a spike of pain through his tummy, as it protested the addition of all the heavy chocolate and sugar while still trying to work through his earlier feast. He’d drained his mug, and Elijah quickly took it away and set it aside as Micah groaned, realizing he really should have waited after all.

“Ooh, my tummy _hurts_ …” Micah moaned, even as Elijah gently hooked his hands under his shoulders and pulled him across his lap, cradling him in one arm and laying his other hand over the achy swell of his best friend’s belly.

“Micah, you are so _silly_.” Elijah scolded with a smile, smoothing broad circles with his whole hand. It was like magic; Micah felt himself relaxing again instead of continuing to squirm and moan, immensely thankful that Elijah seemed to know what to do without even being asked. His tummy felt sore and tender instead of tight and stuffed like it had earlier, and he wasn’t keen on having it pressed on too much. Elijah’s method at the moment seemed more focused on keeping him warm and comfortable.

“Just get all the ‘I told you so’s’ out of your system and keep doing that.” Micah groaned, and Elijah sighed and tapped him on the forehead.  
“You know I don’t want you to be in pain.”  
Micah batted his hand away with a smirk and a wince. “Yeah, I know. That’s because you’re the biggest fucking softie alive.”

He watched his friend’s hand rub reassuringly over and around the soft mound of his tummy, in a pleasant pattern that chased away the ache as quickly as each twinge squeezed through his insides. He’d pulled his shirt up so Elijah could have more access to his middle, resting his own hands just above the bulge to keep them out of the way too. Elijah pressed down with his fingers carefully just once, and Micah startled himself with the belch that rumbled up in response. Maybe he _had_ drunk that mug a little too fast…

When he started feeling better, Micah had to pry his eyes open after they’d fallen shut, looking up into Elijah’s face. For a moment, back in the train car, Elijah really had seemed like an entirely different person. Micah had seen him fight before, but that had carried a sense of necessity with it. There wasn’t time to be diplomatic in a fight when someone was swinging a knife at your throat. It was action and reaction, and Elijah had dragged himself away with just as many bruises and bleeding cuts as the others had. This had been different. He had actively made himself into a threat to keep danger away from Micah. It was equally as unnerving as it was touching. 

“Hey El?” Micah murmured, smiling when Elijah looked down at him. “Thanks for loving me so much.”  
Elijah blinked, then his expression softened to one of what could only be described as adoration, and he ruffled Micah’s curls again. “You’re welcome.” He brushed his thumb soothingly over the stretched slope of Micah’s waist before returning to the stroking motion with his palm. “Are you feeling better?”  
“Yeah, a lot.” Micah yawned. “I’m gonna pass out any second now.”

Elijah reached over and began unlacing Micah’s shoes, tugging them off one by one and dropping them next to the couch. “That does not surprise me.”  
“You gonna take a nap too?”  
“Probably. But I will wait until you are asleep first.” Elijah snuggled him a little more tightly in his arms and leaned back on the pillows. His breathing was already slowing and Micah could feel the tickle of his beard over his head. 

“Thanks for showing me your world a little. It was really fun. Kinda scary at the end, but still fun.”  
“I’m sorry I scared you, Micah. But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  
“S’okay. You can’t help it. You’re a scary bastard.”

Elijah’s badly suppressed chuckle was the last thing Micah heard before he drifted off, wrapped in comfort and warmth and love beyond measure.


	19. We've Come So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group study date gone wrong finds Elijah with a potent case of the hiccups. Everyone pitches in to help, but Micah feels his friend is acting a little off. His questions are answered later in the evening as he both provides care and reminisces on harder times in the past.

“You havin’ some trouble there, Micah?”  
“Ugh. Shut up, Cole. My hands are just greasy.”  
“Did you get into the chips _already?_ ”

Micah grunted with irritation as he finally managed to twist off the cap of the two liter soda, yelping when the liquid inside fizzed up and over as he made a grab for the napkins on the table.  
“Give me a break, okay? It’s not like we’re gonna run out of anything.”

Cole laughed, flicked an ear, and reached for a stack of paper plates to put next to the stash of junk food on the study room table. “Whose idea was this again? I seriously doubt we’ll be getting any studying done. You, Elijah, and Jord are the only ones with similar majors anyhow.”

Micah scowled at him. “This isn’t gonna be a super productive thing or whatever. But we wanted to get everyone together, and Macy and Jordan were too stressed about their tests coming up to agree to come, right? This is the compromise to lure them out of their tiny little nerd holes.”

The feliken grinned, reaching for the jug of iced tea to open that as well. “I guess. Group Study Time: Absolute Chaos Edition. When’s your big guy going to get here? Sasha and Macy just texted that they’re on their way from north campus. Jord’s picking up the pizza.”

Micah fished in his pocket for his phone, squinting at the display once he’d pulled it out. “He says he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Not gonna be covered in blood or anything, is he?” Cole joked, far more at ease with the idea of Elijah being in a gang than Micah himself had been, a couple years ago. He felt a twinge of guilt, remembering how badly he’d reacted, practically running from Elijah as the other young man had tried to catch up, calling for him. Micah had called him a murderer and told him to stay away. The look of desolation he’d seen in those blue eyes would probably never stop haunting him entirely.

“Nah, he doesn’t like to be a mess if he can help it.” Micah rolled his eyes, sitting down with his backpack and digging for his chemistry textbook. It had been a relief, honestly, sitting down with Sasha and the group and informing everyone quietly about the real nature of Elijah’s frequent absences and occasional minor injuries. It had seemed like everyone had pretty much guessed already anyways; there had been a few solemn nods, but then Cole had burst out laughing and made a joke about Elijah bringing them all some free MB, while Jordan pushed him over. 

Sasha and Macy got to the study room about fifteen minutes later, dusting half-melted snow out of their hair and off their shoulders. Macy took one look at the snacks on the table and rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

“Trust you guys to turn this into a _party_.”  
“Aw, come on girl, it _is_ a party!” Sasha laughed, giving her friend a gentle push over towards the paper plates. A study party! This is going to be fun and we’ll hopefully be able to push each other into getting our homework done at least. You needed to get out of the library anyways!”

Micah had hopped up from his chair and bounded over to Sasha, grinning and kissing her and brushing some droplets from her wings. “Hey babe! Long time no see.”

Sasha laughed at the joke — the two of them had just spent a weekend together — and squeezed her boyfriend tightly with a smile as she pressed her forehead to his, careful not to jab him with her horns. “Mm, you’re silly.”

“Where.” Cole groaned dramatically, grabbing at his phone on the table and opening his messages, “Is my datemate? I want kisses too, dammit.”  
“Jordan?” Sasha questioned, turning her head. “We saw them with Elijah down in the lobby on the way up! Looked like they were grabbing some soda cans from the vending machines?”

“Ah, damn, but we already have drinks!” Micah pecked Sasha’s cheek again before reaching for his phone again. “Someone call them and tell them to get up here!”  
“On it!” Cole tapped the display of his device and called Jordan’s cell, laughing into the receiver and telling them to hurry up and get upstairs. Minutes later, both they and Elijah shouldered into the room, carrying boxes of pizza that smelled heavenly.

“Did you meet on the way here?” Cole asked in confusion, jumping up to give Jordan a hug and kiss, who gave a long-suffering sigh, but kissed back swiftly before squirming loose so they could set their pizza box down on the table.

Elijah followed suit, shaking his head. “No, just outside the door.”  
“I was having trouble with the door and Elijah helped me out.” Jordan smiled, divesting their coat pockets of cans of soda. “Sorry about making you all wait — I forgot that we had drinks already.”

“Not the right _kind_ of drinks…” Macy muttered wryly with a smirk, and the rest of the group laughed, except for Elijah, but he smiled, then held his arms out for Micah to catapult into them.

“Hello, Micah.”  
“Hey, dumbass.” Micah lowered his voice. “You stay safe this weekend?”  
“Not a scratch.” Elijah told him, ruffling his curls with warmth in his eyes. “I brought you a sandwich.”  
“But we’re having pizza!”

“Which is exactly why you need a sandwich.” Elijah chuckled once, softly, then reached a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a bagged turkey sandwich, cut diagonally across the middle, that he handed to Micah. It had tomato and lettuce on it, too. Very healthy.

Micah sighed and opened the pouch, taking out a sandwich half and biting into it with a grin. It was good and Elijah was right — at least this way he could enjoy the pizza without any worries. They’d found through a series of attempts, both intentional and non, that as long as Micah did something to “buffer” his stomach against greasy food, it usually didn’t bother him as much.

Elijah set his bag down, which he rarely carried, stocked with a few textbooks and his computer for their group study date, and claimed one of the chairs next to his best friend, with Sasha sitting on Micah’s other side. Elijah started up his computer and noticeably waited until everyone else had gotten into the pizza, even Micah, before getting a paper plate and scooping out a couple of slices for himself. He tilted the jug of iced tea curiously.

“Does this have any sugar in it?”  
“Huh, the tea?” Cole was sitting on Elijah’s other side, and he swallowed an enormous bite of pizza before shaking his head. “Nah, it’s unsweet. Sorry, were you hoping for sweet?”

“No, I like unsweet.” Elijah assured him, picking up a plastic cup and pouring some tea for himself. He withdrew a black permanent marker from his backpack a moment later, writing his name on the cup, then obligingly passed the marker around the table for everyone else to use.

“So did you guys watch the game on Saturday?” Cole piped up amidst the quiet sounds of shuffling papers and fingers tapping on screens, then laughed, his ears flattening when Jordan grabbed a notebook and whacked him lightly with it.

“This is _study time_ , Cole. You got your snacks and all of us in the same room, you have to let us have our study time now.”  
“You’ve already studied _so much_ though. I feel neglected!” Cole whined, as Micah began to snicker, and Sasha threw a potato chip at her boyfriend with a grin.

“Jordan will have a much easier time making up for neglecting you if they are in good spirits after doing well on their test.” Elijah sassed Cole gently, smiling when Jordan shot him a delighted smirk.

“Okay, if you don’t _all_ shut your mouths this instant, I’m going to douse every single one of you in cola!” Macy barked, looking torn between laughing and snarling. The rest of the room erupted into giggles.

For a good solid forty minutes following, the group was studious and focused. The only sounds that interrupted the quiet were the turning of pages, munching of snacks, or the low whispers of Jordan, Micah, and Elijah over physics. One pizza box was emptied, and Micah got up to toss it in the corner of the room so they could make room to move snacks around and open the second box, when it happened.

Elijah, focused very intently on the equation in his notebook that Jordan was helpfully giving him pointers on, absentmindedly reached for his cup of tea, and his fingers closed around Cole’s cup of soda, which had unfortunately been moved in the shuffle. Micah turned around just in time to see his best friend tilt the cup to his lips, and tried to call out—

“ _El!_ Stop, that’s—!”

It was too late. Elijah looked up from his work, face screwed up in a slight grimace, holding the mouthful of soda behind his lips as he glanced morosely at Micah.

“Well? I mean?” Micah let his hands drop to his sides as he laughed. “I guess you could always just spit it out.” His friends around the room gave both him and Elijah absolutely bewildered looks. 

Elijah grimaced further, then visibly swallowed and gave a slight cough.

“You hate sweet stuff that much, big guy?” Cole giggled hesitantly, and Micah shook his head.  
“That’s partly it, but also, carbonated stuff always gives him—“

Elijah hiccuped loudly and covered his mouth.

“—hiccups.”

Sasha started laughing first. She got up to lean over the back of Elijah’s chair and give him a light hug as he blushed and hiccuped again. “Aw geez, big guy, I don’t mean to embarrass you, but I do declare that’s the funniest sound I think I have ever heard you make.”

The others were giggling then, and Cole hurriedly dragged his cup farther out of reach, as if to protect Elijah further from its bubbling contents. “Hold your breath or something, that’s supposed to help!”

“That’s just an old saying.” Jordan rolled their eyes, giving Elijah one of their rare pats to the shoulder as he hiccuped again, the movement visibly squeezing his chest. 

Macy sighed and abandoned her accounting book, finally standing and coming around the table to stand in the growing circle around Elijah’s chair with a smile. “ _I_ always recommend peppermint oil to people. A drop on the roof of the mouth. Instant cure.”  
“Great.” Cole flashed a grin. “Anyone have any peppermint oil on them?”

There was a brief, amused silence, and the feliken laughed, giving Elijah’s shoulder a friendly shove. “Breath holding it is, then! Go for it.”

“I— _hic!_ —usually just have to wait them— _hic!_ —out.” Elijah mumbled bashfully, his gaze resting on the surface of the table. He’d folded one arm over his upper belly, propping his other elbow on his wrist, and was slightly covering his mouth, as if he could suppress the uncomfortable spasms. 

“Well, good thing you have us this time around!” Cole teased, grabbing for his cell and and opening a web browser. “Everyone start looking up hiccup cures! Come on big guy, hold your breath.”

With a small sigh, Elijah finally obeyed, taking a deep breath and quietly holding it as Cole squeezed up close to him and showed him the pages he was scrolling through. Macy grinned and grabbed a plastic cup, informing them all she was going down the hallway to the water fountain to fill it. Jordan slid into the chair that had previously been Micah’s with a sympathetic smirk as Elijah hiccuped again even without letting his breath out, and Sasha quietly slipped around the edge of the table, taking Micah’s arm and smiling softly as she gave a little squeeze.

“You’re not gonna join in, babe?” She whispered, stretching a wing out and folding it around him, and Micah smiled ruefully. She always knew he couldn’t resist that.  
“I’m not tryna to be a downer, but El doesn’t like being the center of attention like this.” He whispered back, and Sasha slid a concerned glance in the direction of their big friend as her boyfriend continued. “And having hiccups for too long makes his tummy hurt. He sucks down too much air by accident and then won’t let it back up because he’s too afraid of being rude.”

“Poor El.” Sasha murmured sympathetically, chuckling despite herself. Cole’s ears kept flicking dramatically in Elijah’s direction every time he hiccuped. “But it would be such a shame for you both to leave so early! We haven’t even been here for an hour I don’t think.”  
“Ah, shit.” Micah breathed, barely audible. “I think he heard you.”

Across the room, Elijah’s gaze had flicked up to meet theirs, a familiar startling blue. Micah wasn’t sure what he expected Elijah to do, until something shifted in his best friend’s expression, and he smiled broadly. Something about the way he did made Micah want to frown.

“Go back, that looked like an interesting website.” Elijah suddenly snatched the phone out of Cole’s hands, earning a delighted shriek and buoyant laughter when he held it out of reach.

“Elijah!” Cole giggled, grabbing for the device. “Give it here— _thank_ you, and you gotta be kidding me. That’s all the old boring ones! Say the alphabet backwards, drink a cup of water upside down— I’m tryna get _creative_ here, if you don’t mind. See—“ the feliken flipped a digital page on the holographic screen on his cell. "It says here that you can always try for an orgasm?” Cole’s grin was insufferably smug.

Micah flinched, shrugging out of Sasha’s hold so he could make his way back around the table, opening his mouth so he could say, _Okay, that’s enough, stop teasing him_ —

But Elijah _laughed_ , shaking his head. “Anyone who attempts to—  _hic!_  —lead me  _there_  will need a respectable amount of luck.”

Cole was beside himself, howling with laughter while Jordan looked between the other two with a happily bewildered look. Macy reentered the room with the cup of water, nodding at Elijah’s sincere thanks when she handed it to him, and Sasha leaned over to whisper to Micah again.

“Babe, you look so upset. What’s wrong? I don’t think Elijah’s having a bad time. He seems happy enough.”  
“Care to share with the class?” Cole drawled over the table, and Sasha cheerfully stuck her tongue out at him.  
“I’m telling Micah all about ancient magical Aversion traditions for curing hiccups.” She teased, flitting a wing at the others in a shooing motion. “We’ll let you guys know in a minute.”

Elijah looked over at the two of them curiously, jolting with another hiccup, but he obligingly refocused on Cole’s antics when the feliken tugged demandingly at his sleeve.  
“Okay big guy, you wanna try the drinking water upside down thing?”

“I imagine this will require some—  _hic!_  —acrobatics.” Elijah joked, standing from his chair, raising the cup up near his face. He followed Jordan’s earnestly amused instructions on how to brace a hand against the table, tuck his chin downwards and attempt to tilt the cup gently towards his lips. He’d managed a few tentative sips when the ice that Macy had thoughtfully retrieved from the study center’s break room slid out of the cup in a rush, dousing his face and beard, as he began to splutter and hiccup with renewed vigor. He laughed reassuringly as soon as he’d gotten his breath back, patting Cole’s shoulder and winking at Macy, thanking them for the attempt.

“He’s… laughing wrong.” Micah whispered over his shoulder to Sasha, and his girlfriend’s brow creased with confusion.  
“Laughing wrong how?”  
“I…” Micah sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I dunno how to describe it. But he doesn’t laugh this much— Goddesses, I know that sounds awful, but it’s true. You know? And he doesn’t laugh… like this.”  
“He doesn’t sound like he’s forcing laughter to me.”  
“That’s… not what I mean, exactly.“

Micah really didn’t know how to put words to it. It wasn’t that it sounded forced… it sounded…  _planned_. When his best friend usually laughed, it came suddenly, bubbling up in his voice, ringing out like it surprised even  _him_ , escaping before he could clamp down and stop it, keep his professional, reserved composure. Once in a blue moon, something would just strike Elijah as  _funny_ , and he’d giggle helplessly for a moment or two before reigning himself back in. Right now he was…  _speaking_  with his laughter. Using it openly to placate and reassure. Like an oddly formulaic social tool.

“Sounds like we need some Magic Avesian Cures.” Macy said very loudly, and Sasha giggled, squeezing Micah’s arm warmly before drifting over towards the others.

“I know of one very ancient technique, passed down through generations…” Sasha grinned impishly, holding up a finger. “You have to give someone a good scare. Works every time.”

“That’s not avesian!” Cole groaned, tail lashing once. “Everyone knows that one.”  
“You have no proof that it  _isn’t_  avesian, do you?”  
“Ugh, I guess not.” Cole smirked and hopped up from the table. “Okay big guy, what gives you the heebie jeebies?”

“It has to be a sudden scare.” Jordan cut in chidingly, smiling and looking at Elijah out of the corner of their eye. “There has to be an abrupt enough spike in the heart rate to distract the brain’s pathways and restimulate the breathing patterns." 

“Alright.” Elijah grinned, hiccuped, and held his hands out in invitation. “Scare me.”  
“It’s not going! To be a sudden scare! If you’re expecting it, Elijah!” Macy emphasized, chuckling when he gave a helpless shrug, hiccuped, then knocked back a little more ice from the cup and started chewing on it.

“Everyone just remember to try to catch him off guard at some point.” Jordan instructed, reaching for their phone. “We can move on to something else in the meantime. Micah? You have any ideas?”

Micah sighed as all eyes in the room turned towards him. But then, Elijah’s gaze met his, and there was something a little softer, something encouraging in his best friend’s face, and Micah abruptly wondered if he was reading way too much into this. There was warmth in Elijah’s eyes. Maybe he really was okay, after all. He hiccuped, and Micah couldn’t help but laugh.

“I have a really dumb one.” He giggled, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you like, get a paper towel and use it to grab your tongue and pull on it. Lightly! But there was one household I lived in where everyone swore by that method.”

Elijah grimaced faintly. “You— _hic!_ —could have suggested something a bit— _hic!_ —easier, you realize? Such as reciting the alphabet— _hic!_ —backwards?”

“This isn’t supposed to be easy, this is supposed to be entertaining!” Cole crowed, clapping Elijah on the back, who suddenly clamped a hand to his mouth to trap a strangled sound. It was almost a hiccup, but it twisted deeper, and made him visibly wince before he batted teasingly at the feliken who hopped nimbly out of reach.

“You are— _hic!_ —rather shameless, aren’t you?”  
“Shameless is my middle name.” Cole beamed, snapping a set of finger guns as Micah reached to tear off a paper towel and hand it to Elijah.

Elijah, good sport as always, gave his tongue some careful tugs with a relatively humorous expression while the girls snapped photos of him doing it. He kept hiccuping. Sasha told him to try the “alphabet thing,” and he did that as well, still hiccuping, while Jordan, Cole, and Micah joined together to research further cures. They had him pull on his ears, blow on his thumb, repeat the word “pineapple” several times in a row, and breathe through a wet paper towel. Nothing seemed to work.

“I tried to— _hic!_ —tell you all.” Elijah huffed, sounding somewhere between tired and amused. He was sitting low in his chair again, leaning back with an arm draped over where his belly continued to squeeze with spasm after spasm. “I usually have to wait them— _hic!_ —out.”

“ _RrrrAARRRGGHHHH!!!_ ”

Micah yelped in surprise and jumped back, away from where he’d been moving to reassuringly pat Elijah’s shoulder, when Sasha leapt towards their big friend with an actually quite impressive roar, wings flared and hands out. 

Elijah’s expression melted to one of deep amusement, and he chuckled softly as Sasha sighed and gave way to laughter herself.

“It didn’t work, I guess.” She said when Elijah hiccuped again.  
He tilted his head apologetically. “You are not— _hic!_ —very scary.”  
“Excuse me.” Micah piped up from a safe distance away. “She is terrifying.”

“Hey wait— okay I think I found one that might actually work!” Macy suddenly spoke up, scrolling through a page on her cell. “You guys don’t give me that look, you know we’ve only been doing this stuff as a joke.” She rolled her eyes at the group and reached for Elijah’s plastic cup again.  
“I’ve been completely serious.” Jordan objected with a straight face, in response to which, Cole snickered loudly.

“It says to drink something slowly while you hold your nose.” Macy poured Elijah some tea and passed him the cup, and he accepted it without protest, subjecting himself to probably yet another silly endeavor just to play along. He hiccuped, then clamped his nose shut, raising the cup to his lips and taking several, long swallows. He hiccuped on the second gulp but kept going, swallowing it all done until he emptied the cup. He set it carefully aside before dropping his hand from his face, then leaned back in the chair again and waited.

Nothing happened.  
Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a few seconds longer, then Cole started cackling maniacally and Macy beamed with immense satisfaction, and something like real and pure relief washed over Elijah’s face.

“It worked!” Micah giggled, holding his arms out for a hug which Macy enthusiastically accepted after a moment. “You cured my behemoth!”  
“Well, we all tried our _best_.” Jordan chuckled once, plopping back down in their chair and giving the back of Cole’s head a friendly shove. “Okay, time to shut up, pumpkin. This was an entertaining detour, but we still need to—“

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Macy laughed, shaking her head as she pulled out of Micah’s embrace and reached for her bag. “Sorry big guy, this was cute, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad your hiccups are gone, but it is _very_ clear I can’t trust you guys to let me concentrate.”

“That is very fair.” Elijah conceded, and the rest of the circle gave a collective laugh.  
“Maybe we really should call it a night.” Sasha giggled, moving to clean up the remnants of the snacks. “Before someone else starts an hour-long tangent. No offense, El! I know you couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, I honestly really do need to study.” Jordan admitted, standing so they could help Sasha.   
“Aw man, are we all heading out then?” Micah sighed and Cole shrugged amiably. “Guess so.”  
“Goodnight, everyone.” Macy reached out to hug Sasha, and the other girl gave her a smile and a warm squeeze.  
“‘Night, girl. See you later!”

It took a few minutes for everyone to pack up and clean the study room, then Micah kissed Sasha goodnight and took Elijah’s hand when he reached for him.

“You gonna walk me back to the dorms?” Micah grinned up at him hopefully, and his best friend smiled and nodded.  
“Of course. As long as that is alright with you.”  
“Duh.”

It wasn’t that late, but it was very dark and still quite cold. The misty snowfall had stopped, but there was a light, sharp breeze that made them both shiver a bit as they picked their way carefully over the slushy sidewalks.

Micah had let go of Elijah’s hand to put on his gloves — which he’d actually remembered this time — and was trudging along, hands in his pockets with the sound of boots behind him. Inwardly, his thoughts were whirling.

He’d been hoping for ages that Elijah would eventually open up more to the group. He’d been making progress with Jordan, and had always treated Sasha with a lot of sweetness and warmth. But whatever had just gone down didn’t really feel like opening up… because it didn’t feel like _him_. Elijah didn’t act that way when he and Micah were alone together. He was warmer when it was just the two of them, sure, but he was also usually fairly quiet, sometimes inserting little sounds in his responses rather than words at all. The way Elijah had just behaved in the study room… it didn’t feel genuine, it felt _rehearsed_.

Micah wondered if there was a way to bring it up now, to ask Elijah what had made him behave so oddly. But Sasha hadn’t noticed anything off, maybe he was just reading too much into—  
He suddenly realized that the sound of boots behind him had fallen much further behind him.

Micah stopped walking and turned around, feeling a scowl steal over his face as he registered Elijah’s expression and body language. 

At a slight distance, Elijah was still walking, not realizing yet that Micah had stopped. His brow was drawn in pain, his shoulders were hunched slightly forwards, and he had one hand pressed over the front of his coat, three of his fingers digging down against the line of buttons where his upper belly was. The mist of his breath in the frigid air was slow and halting, as if every inhale and exhale was gingerly executed.

“Elijah.” Micah snapped, hurriedly shuffling back towards him. Blue eyes blinked open in surprise and guilt, traveling to meet his gaze, and Micah frowned further. “Your tummy hurts, doesn’t it?”  
  
Elijah grunted faintly, then sighed and looked down again. “Mhm.”

Understanding washed over Micah very suddenly, and he felt, strangely, a sense of anger. He thought Elijah was getting better about this!  
“I thought you were getting better about this.” He almost snarled the thought aloud, then his irritation reigned itself back in when Elijah visibly flinched at his tone. Micah instantly regretted his harshness and felt sympathy flood him instead.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But you’re supposed to tell me when you need something, El. It sucks when you don’t.” Micah reached out and wove an arm around his best friend, but batted Elijah’s hands away when he tried to pull him into a full hug, instead pressing a hand over his best friend’s tummy. Goddesses, it was rock hard beneath his coat, and suddenly Elijah lifted a hand to stifle a deep belch.

“I’m sorry, Micah… I didn’t— I wasn’t sure what to do, with everyone around, and I—“ He paused to burp again.  
“That’s not supposed to matter.” Micah pulled away and took Elijah’s hand instead. “Let’s just get back to the dorm so we can get you taken care of.”  
“Is Austin there?” Elijah sounded nervous, and Micah shrugged.  
“Dunno. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

The cold clung to them even through the lobby and up the stairs, then Micah gently pushed Elijah towards the futon after they’d taken off their coats. Micah’s roommate was thankfully nowhere in sight, and Elijah limply curled up on the low seat as another soft belch rumbled up that he only made a half-hearted attempt to cover. Micah settled next to him moments later, pushing his friend’s hands away from his belly so he could begin to rub and knead at the huge pocket of air that always came of hiccuping too long.

“You were acting all friendly and shit because you were hurting? That makes no fucking sense, you know?” Micah mumbled in disbelief, shaking his head. He pressed a palm into Elijah’s grumbling tummy, pushing in and smoothing upwards towards his ribs, and Elijah covered his mouth more fully in an attempt to stifle the huge burp that followed. Micah couldn’t help feeling a little flicker of smugness. At least he was helping.

“I was alright until around the time drinking upside-down from a cup of water was suggested…” Elijah murmured carefully, shifting his weight and pressing a couple of fingers over a few smaller burps. “But I didn’t want to upset anyone…”

“Dude, it is _so_ not a good idea to play things up like that when you’re not feeling good.” Micah cuddled closer, nestling into more of a hug and resting his cheek against Elijah’s shoulder as he kept patting his best friend’s slowly-relaxing tummy. At least it didn’t seem too difficult to soothe it.

“It’s hard… not to.” Elijah said, very softly, with a lot of shame, and for a long moment, Micah stared blankly at him, trying to understand.  
“It’s hard not to… what? Not to flip a switch and turn yourself all happy-go-lucky like that? When you have a tummy ache?”  
“When something’s wrong.” Elijah was so quiet, Micah had to strain to hear him.

He gave his best friend another warm squeeze, dislodging another burp as well as convincing himself that it was much better to hug Elijah than to yell at him again. “El, I don’t understand. You’re gonna have to help me out here.”

Elijah sighed, and lapsed into silence. Micah let him be silent, let him think, cuddled close enough to hear his heartbeat and the faint grumbling that signaled his tummy was starting to free up some room. Actually… he was starting to sound… hungry? Maybe in a few minutes, Micah could ask him if he wanted a snack.

“Social services.” Elijah finally answered, and at last, his arm curled around Micah, holding him close as if he hoped he wouldn’t push away. “It was so hard to hide… how bad things were, at home, for so long… social services would have taken any excuse they could find to take Bri and I, and separate us, shuffle us into the system. But people asked fewer questions as long as we seemed happy. My mother and father could be completely absent, the house could be a wreck, but as long as we were laughing and smiling and answering questions like nothing was wrong… they… left us alone. It’s… hard to break the habit.”  
“Oh.” Micah whispered into his best friend’s chest, rubbing another circle over his tummy with a gentle pressure. “That makes way too much fucking sense.”

He surprised himself with the sharpness of his own thoughts as he tried to imagine what that had been like. How it must feel to lose so much and still have to wear a smile. Micah himself had turned so sullen when everything went to shit. He’d cried and yelled and kept everyone back by broadcasting how miserable he’d been. He couldn’t image doing the opposite. _No, we’re happy, look at us. See? Everything’s alright. Please don’t take anything else. Look at us. We’re happy_.

“I— know it seems foolish; that it shouldn’t seep into something so trivial, and— but I—“  
“Shut up, fuckwit.” Micah tilted his head back to look up into Elijah’s face, and smirked at him gently. Relief washed over his best friend’s expression, then suddenly he made a little sound and curled further inwards, and Micah had to laugh as Elijah suddenly pushed his face into the crook of his neck and shoulder and hid there, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up, Micah. I didn’t intend to make you angry…”  
“I’m sorry I _got_ angry, El.” Micah rolled his eyes, kissing the side of Elijah’s cheek, rewarded with a small hum. “I was being an ass again. How’re you feeling?”  
“Mm, better.” Elijah lifted his head again to stifle another small belch, and his tummy grumbled. “Thank you, Micah.”  
“You know what’s weird is I could swear you sound hungry right now.”

Elijah mumbled something that sounded nervous before speaking up more clearly, “Well, I… did not much feel up to eating after the hiccups started.”  
Micah snorted in amusement. “You weren’t done yet, huh? You want a snack? I have some bananas.”  
“I don’t like eating your food.”  
“You bastard, I eat your food all the damn time.”

Elijah sat up a little more and opened his mouth as though he would continue to argue, but then a weird sound left his lips, almost like a hiccup, almost like a burp, and he stopped, grimacing a little. He even raised a hand towards his chest and bent his head, the picture of concentration. Micah couldn’t help but laugh.

“Something stuck in there?” He joked, reaching out to pat his best friend’s broad stomach again. To his surprise, Elijah actually nodded, looking more uncomfortable.  
“I’m sorry, give me a moment…”

“Don’t apologize, dumbass.” Micah scooted closer again, rubbing carefully over Elijah’s tummy with his whole hand, trying to repeat the firm, upwards movements from before. He could feel his best friend’s abdominal muscles tensing and releasing, but nothing was coming up.

“Sit up a little more so I can rub your back, too.” Micah huffed, wrapping an arm around him when he did. Elijah grunted uncomfortably, and his muscles tensed again, just as Micah pounded him firmly on the back and pressed in on his belly. 

The burp that came up was long and airy, not nearly as loud as it could have been, but ended with an immensely relieved groan as Elijah slumped forward and rubbed at his chest again while Micah scratched his back affectionately and brushed a loose strand of hair back from his face.

“That sounded like pretty much it. You feel better now?” Micah laughed, and Elijah hummed once.  
“So much. Thank you, Micah.”  
“Good. Time for bananas. Don’t argue with me, you behemoth. Shut your damn mouth.”

Elijah shut his mouth and his gaze flitted to the floor as a soft smile spread over his face. He didn’t protest when Micah hopped up from the futon, retrieved a bunch of bananas from on top of his tiny fridge, then brought them back to him and put one in his hands before twisting one off for himself as well.

They nibbled on the fruit in relative silence, curled next to each other with their feet tucked up away from the cold floor. Well, Micah nibbled. Elijah’s banana disappeared in a few bites, and he protested when he was given another, but he ate that one too, managing to land all three peels in the wastebasket when Micah gave him his to toss away.

They almost fell asleep, settled against one another, until Micah yawned and struggled to sit up, deciding he absolutely did not want to hand Elijah his coat to head back out in the cold, not with his best friend looking so sleepy and content. 

“Dude. You wanna just sleep here? Austin got a girlfriend a couple weeks ago. He might just be sleeping at her place.”  
“I’m not certain that is a good idea.” Elijah mumbled back, without opening his eyes.

Micah carefully wriggled out of his hold, going over to the storage bins beneath his bed and pulling out an extra pillow, and a couple of heavy quilts. The dorms sucked, but his mom and Stephanie had done so much when he was moving in to try to make him comfortable. All these blankets, the rug, the posters, the minifridge— Goddesses knew he’d not be able to afford any of this now.

He came back over to the futon and pushed Elijah over so his best friend was lying down, earning a soft sound of surprise, but Elijah didn’t struggle as Micah began to tuck him in, feeling a weird sense of happiness in doing so. Even if Elijah hadn’t gotten hurt this past weekend, he’d probably been awake for far too many hours in a row again. Balancing the gangs, and school, and Elijah had even told him that his work with Travis was another commitment in addition to gang life. No wonder he never got enough sleep.

It was strangely comforting to cover him with blankets and tuck them tightly around his broad chest, wedge a pillow underneath his head. It felt so good that Elijah let him without protesting or trying to hide a familiar flicker of guilt in his eyes.

His best friend blinked sleepily at him, and yawned, covering his mouth politely. Micah finished burying him, then knelt down and gave him a big hug, and Elijah squeezed him back happily.  
“Thank you, Micah.”  
“You’re welcome, you behemoth. Get some sleep. Goodnight.”  
“’Night.” Elijah mumbled, then his eyes fell shut and he was breathing deeply moments later.

It meant so much, that Elijah trusted Micah unconditionally, letting him comfort and care for him like this. Micah wondered how they’d ever gotten to this point, but he was so, so glad they had. He loved his best friend. He loved seeing him sleeping there, quietly, looking comfortable and entirely relaxed, when he faced so much hardship out in the rest of the world.  
And no matter how many times Elijah felt the need to draw back, to hide, to tell Micah he didn’t deserve it, Micah was not going to let him believe that anymore. Elijah was one of the most worthy people he had ever met.

Micah brushed his teeth, changed into his sweats, and climbed into bed before the hour was up, dozing off and only waking again when the door opened as Austin entered quietly.

Micah’s roommate took in the sleeping form of Elijah on the futon, feet dangling off the far end but soundly ensconced with blankets, and shot him a questioning look.

“S’my best friend.” Micah yawned. “It was cold and he was falling asleep. S’okay if he stays here tonight? He’s really quiet. Doesn’t even snore. Sorry I didn’t warn ya.”

Austin looked like he thought about it a moment before giving a light shrug. “Yeah, it’s cool. No big.”

“Thanks, man.” Micah rolled over and went back to sleep. It was a nice thought, just before he drifted off, that he’d see Elijah first thing in the morning.

———

_When he was finished with his meal, Elijah folded up the wrapper from his food and threw it away in a nearby waste bin, followed by his empty cup. He suddenly stretched a bit, pulling his wrists in front of himself and tensing his muscles, then his back cracked and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck comfortably. It was probably the most relaxed that Micah had ever seen him._

_“Seriously.” Micah mumbled as he stared down at the last few bites of his sandwich, not returning the gaze when Elijah glanced his way. “You think I wouldn’t notice that fucking bruise? You get hit by a bus or something?”_

_Elijah sighed. A long moment of silence stretched between them, then Elijah leaned forward onto his elbows, over his knees, folded his hands together and stared at the pavement._

_“Alright, Micah. I will explain, but mostly because I imagine the truth of this will come out sooner or later, and I am not much interested in evading questions for the entire semester. I am in a gang.”_

_That was it, no preamble, no excuses given. Micah’s jaw dropped and he jerked his head to stare at Elijah, but the other young man didn’t turn his head._

_“I may frequently miss classes because I am attending to gang-related business. When you see me, I may have any manner of minor injuries and contusions. If this makes you uncomfortable in any way, I will not hold it against you in the slightest if you were to wish to cut contact, and find another partner for the project.”_

_Another long silence. Micah swallowed hard._  
_“Are you… dangerous?” What a stupid question. He could have kicked himself._  
_“In the most honest sense, yes. But I would never try to harm you, Micah. I promise.”_  
_“So you get in fights a lot?”_  
_“Yes. Almost every day.”_  
_“…Why?”_  
_“Because that is part of-“  
_ _“No, idiot. Fuck. Why are you in a gang?”_

_Elijah’s eyes tightened. “This is the most direct path to reaching my goal. It may still take years, or even decades, but being connected to the illicit side of society gives me leverage I would not find anywhere else. It is necessary. Someday I may be able to leave the gangs and operate entirely on my own. Hopefully that will be the case.”_

_Another pause. The door to the sandwich cafe across the street chimed as a trio of friends stepped out, laughing and joking together. Micah stuffed the last bite of his food in his mouth and busied himself with chewing._

_“You’re a criminal.” He said slowly once he’d swallowed._  
_“Yes.”_  
_“Have you ever… killed anyone?”_  
_Elijah turned his head, leaning to the side, looking Micah directly in the eyes. The blueness of his gaze was startling. Paralyzing.  
_ _“Yes.”_

_Micah felt fury rise up inside him. He teared up and he hated that he did. He clenched his teeth and tried to dry his eyes before the tears fell._

_“Micah…”_

_There was so much pain in Elijah’s voice. But Micah couldn’t believe in it. He couldn’t believe in anything he said or did.  
_ _“Why did you even care, then? What does some stranger throwing themselves off of a building matter to_ **_you!_ ** _”_

_“I-“ Elijah seemed to choke over his own words. “I’m sorry. I- it was because- because I couldn’t bear to see you fall. I can’t- there’s nothing worse than that. I would not— not wish that on anyone.”_

_“You make no fucking sense, you know that?” Micah jumped off the wall and grabbed his backpack, throwing it over his shoulders. He heard Elijah step down behind him._

_“Micah, wait, please-“_  
_“You said you’d be okay with us cutting contact, right? Well, consider this it, then! Just stay the fuck away. I’m not really interested in hanging out with a damn murderer!”_  
_“Alright. I understand. I meant it! You can walk away! But please, before you do—“  
_ _Elijah was still calling after him, still with that pain in his voice. And Micah didn’t know why he did, but he stopped._

_“I cannot let you go believing that I do not care about you. I do. I care very much. And I know that may mean little to you, because of what I am, because of the crimes I have committed. But we have spent time together… and I feel I have gotten to know you somewhat, even if only a little. I would be devastated, Micah, if I found out that after tonight, after we parted ways, that you had harmed yourself in some way, or taken your own life…”_

_Micah stayed where he was, his back to Elijah, not moving even as he heard the other young man cautiously walk closer again._

_Finally, when the sounds of footsteps stopped, he turned around and looked into Elijah’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if his own expression was blank or accusing or resigned. “Why would you care about me? After all the people you’ve hurt?”_

_Elijah flinched, the pain in his gaze growing more intense, but he didn’t break eye contact._

_“Because you are one of the most worthy people I have ever met.”_


	20. A Small World In The Worst Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah comes down with a stomach flu, and Elijah cares for him until he has to leave for his underground obligations, taking him to Sasha's to finish recovering. Sasha's choice of medicine leads to a dreadful realization for Elijah...

Micah rolled over for the third time in as many minutes, moaning faintly before swallowing and trying to think past the achy, foggy feeling in his head. He was covered in sticky sweat and shaking all over; the blanket he usually loved most at Elijah’s apartment felt coarse and scratchy wrapped around his shoulders and waist. He shifted position again, futilely trying to get comfortable and ignore the wave of nausea washing over him, but even with soothing fingers rubbing the back of his neck, he had to sigh and accept the inevitable.

“El M'gonna puke again.” Micah whimpered, sagging into his best friend’s hold when strong arms curled underneath him and lifted him up.

“I’m sorry, Micah.” Elijah’s voice was so deeply sad and sympathetic, it made Micah fight a watery smile. The way Elijah talked to him when he was sick should be considered medicine on its own, a balm to all the many aches and twinges of queasiness unlike any other. His steady, gentle hands pulled Micah into a sitting position and held him up as he swallowed heavily over the toilet bowl before throwing up.

It was really only fluid and bile at this point, but Micah coughed roughly against how _hard_ his tummy squeezed, panting for a breath, then another spasm hit him and he heaved again, seeing stars. His head throbbed with his pulse and he groaned, spitting, resting his cheek on the rim of the toilet seat as he closed his eyes and breathed shallowly. Elijah rubbed his back, then tucked a hand carefully around his front and began rubbing his tummy, stroking and massaging. He rested his warm palm tenderly against the tightening muscles when Micah threw up again.

“Are you finished?” Elijah asked softly after a long pause, his fingers combing through Micah’s sweaty curls, and with another gasping swallow, Micah managed to grunt something vaguely affirmative. He felt his friend’s hand slide under his chin and nudge him to lift his face, then a damp cloth was pressed over his lips, wiping away the mess. When his face was clean, Elijah took him more fully into his arms and laid him back down, propping him up on a plethora of pillows.

“No.” Micah cried, pushing away when a cup of water was held to his chin, but Elijah caught his face, brushing a thumb over his cheek reassuringly.  
“Yes. You will be very dehydrated if you do not drink anything with how much you have been throwing up.”  
“I’ll just throw it right the fuck—“ Micah paused as a sickly burp that burned the back of his throat escaped, “—back up.”  
“Maybe. But you might not, and we need to take every opportunity to get fluids into you.”

Micah groaned in a way that he was sure Elijah could tell was overdramatic, but he felt oddly angry and fitful and for a moment he kind of just wanted his best friend to _know_ he was in a very, very bad mood. But the cup didn’t leave and after a moment Micah sipped from it grudgingly, then he started feeling bad for acting like a toddler and felt tears stream down his face. Elijah made a soft sound of surprise and concern that made Micah feel less bad. The cloth returned, wiping away his tears.  
“Please don’t cry, Micah, you will lose more water that way.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a fucking disaster.” Micah whispered, reaching up to scrub at his eyes, and before he’d opened them again, he felt Elijah’s chin pressing down over his forehead as his best friend kissed him softly but insistently.  
“You are very sick, but that is not your fault. I only want you to feel better, I do not want you getting upset like this, alright?”  
“Okay.” Micah breathed, and he turned his cheek further into the pillow, keeping his eyes shut and moving his hands away from his tummy so Elijah could rub it and hopefully encourage it not to reject the fluids.

The virus had come on suddenly, as stomach bugs tend to do, when Micah was leaving his Wednesday morning lab. He’d suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and had almost fallen over right in the middle of the sidewalk, just in time for Elijah to round the corner and see him tilt wildly off-balance. He always came by to meet Micah at that corner so they could walk to their next class together and sit next to each other.

Micah had laughed at his best friend’s frantic feeling of his face and pulse, hugging him and telling him he was fine, and that he probably just tripped or something. Then about two seconds before they’d moved through the door of the classroom, Micah had veered off and run frantically for the bathrooms. He didn’t make it, and ended up throwing up into a trashcan in the hallway while Elijah took his backpack and rubbed his shoulders, murmuring soft words of sympathy.

They’d left campus — Micah had insisted he didn’t need to be carried, but Elijah’s arm never left his shoulders regardless. It was a miserable night and morning, but it was so, so much better to have this makeshift bed of copious pillows and blankets in Elijah’s clean and familiar bathroom, rather than having to kneel at the bottom of a filthy communal stall in the dorms.

Elijah whispered to him and soothed him, kept him as cool and comfortable as possible, and rubbed his back and tummy and neck and even his temples when Micah complained that the headache was getting particularly bad. He drew back and gave him some space to breathe when Micah said he needed it and then quickly returned to his side when Micah started crying for him to come back.

“When’sit gonna be over?” Micah moaned, and Elijah patted his tummy affectionately.  
“These things typically do not last for more than forty-eight hours. I think; I hope at least, that you will begin feeling better by this evening and then be mostly back to normal tomorrow morning. But you will still need a few days of rest and easy meals to get back up to full strength.”

“You’re gonna get sick too.” Micah felt his face crumple, then his friend’s other hand rose to cup his cheek again as he shushed him gently.  
“Please don’t cry, Micah, you are going to feel worse the more dehydrated you are.” Elijah’s thumb stroked his cheek again. “If I get sick, it will be because I was exposed to you before you even knew you were sick, not from taking care of you now.”

“What?” Micah pried his eyes open to peer up at his best friend, and Elijah smiled encouragingly. His tone changed, a hint of his happy ’ _I’m sharing a science fact with you’_  voice coming through.  
“Did you know that? When you are sick, you are actually most contagious about twenty four hours before you begin exhibiting symptoms.”  
“Ugh, don’t sound so _cheerful_ about it.”  
Elijah ducked his head obediently. “My apologies.” But he didn’t look very sorry.

It made Micah feel better though, seeing Elijah fighting a small smile like that. He sighed and stretched his arms above his head, draping himself more fully across the pillows with a hiccup. Elijah’s rough palm stroked over and over the sore, sick feeling in his stomach, traveling in a wide pattern from ribs to hipbones and back again. He made little circles with the pad of his thumb around the bloated curve of Micah’s lower belly, easing the tenseness and ache.

Micah must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes, the angle of light from outside the bathroom had changed somewhat. Elijah had opened both doors to the living room and bedroom so they could see without turning on the fluorescent, to keep Micah’s headache more tolerable.

His mouth was dry and his tummy hurt and he felt achy in all his joints, but the immediate urge of nausea had eased up a little. Micah yawned and turned his head to look at Elijah, who was asleep against the wall, his hand still resting on Micah’s sore stomach, warm and comforting. He’d been up all night with him.  
“El—“ he rasped, then coughed, cleared his throat. “El…”

Elijah’s eyelids fluttered. He shifted, then squinted as he opened them, looking dazed for a moment before his gaze flitted down to rest on Micah. He smiled sympathetically and patted his tummy and Micah felt very loved.  
“Micah? Did you need something?”  
“Water.” Micah pleaded, and Elijah swiftly but carefully scooted closer, lifting him up into his arms and holding him against his chest. He picked up the cup of water by his knee and held it up, letting Micah wrap his hands around his big one, but not letting him hold the cup on his own.

“Slowly, Micah.” Elijah cautioned him, lifting one finger and tapping him on the cheek. “How is your stomach feeling?”  
“Like shit.” Micah complained, nestling further into his best friend’s hold once he’d pushed the cup away. Elijah set it down and brought his hand back to start rubbing Micah’s tummy again.  
“But less nauseous?” Elijah pressed, and Micah nodded reluctantly.  
“A little I guess.”  
“Would you like to come and sit on the couch?”

Micah sighed a very deep sigh and turned in Elijah’s hold, winding his arms around his best friend’s neck and clinging to him.  
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Elijah lifted Micah more fully into his arms, stood carefully, and carried him into the living room, where he’d already made up another cozy bed on the couch. The excess pillows were stacked on the floor and blankets had been bundled strategically so Micah could curl up and rest and watch some TV over the far armrest.

“Can’t you get up here with me?” Micah complained when Elijah tucked him in and sat on the floor next to him, smoothing a gentle hand over his belly when it grumbled ominously.  
“Maybe a bit later, Micah, I feel it is more necessary at the moment for me to be able to get up and get something you might need.” Elijah reached over and tugged the corner of a blanket over Micah’s bare feet. “Speaking of which, I made some popsicles last night; would you feel up to trying one?”

“Popsicles?” Micah perked up a little at the thought of something sweet and cold. “What’d you make them out of?”  
“Some from the electrolyte drink you like to keep in the fridge, and then I also brewed some tea with honey and froze some of that.”

Micah tried to pretend to pout. “I didn’t realize you’d left me at all last night.”  
“Only when I was certain you were asleep, Micah.” Elijah scolded gently, ruffling his curls with a soft touch.  
“That tea with honey sounds good.”  
“Alright, I will bring you one of those.”

Micah watched Elijah stand again and move over to the freezer, taking out a little tray of small paper cups, each with a plastic spoon frozen in the middle. His best friend selected one and put the rest back, peeling off the paper and throwing it away, before bringing the treat back to Micah and placing it encouragingly in his open hand.

“Chamomile?” Micah guessed with a smirk after his first lick, and Elijah shrugged good-naturedly.  
“Of course. Would you like the remote?”  
“Mmm.” Micah pressed the cold sweetness firmly against his lips, sinking back against a pillow and sipping at what melted onto his tongue languidly. The taste was soothing and relaxing and also quenched his thirst. He felt the coolness trickle down his throat and into his tummy and it made him feel a little less dizzy.

Elijah didn’t press for an answer while Micah nibbled at the little frozen treat, just held his unoccupied hand and rubbed a thumb over the back of his knuckles, soft and comforting. He looked up in mild surprise when Micah finally spoke up.

“Could we play a game actually? I wanna do something more distracting than just watching TV…”  
“A game?” Elijah repeated curiously, raising a brow. “What kind of game?”  
“I have this game on my phone and I could download it to my computer too, and we could play each other? It’s like a computer simulated battleship except with the legendary competitors from history.”  
Elijah chuckled and shook his head. “Where do you find these things, Micah?”  
“It’s like the most popular game on campus, El! You just live under a rock.”

Elijah brought him his computer and cell, then obligingly accepted the smaller device and listened to Micah’s rough explanation on how to play. He lost the first three games until Micah shot his best friend a withering look.  
“You’re not supposed to let me beat you, you know.”  
“I am doing no such thing.” His best friend protested, sounding genuinely vexed, and Micah had to laugh.  
“Do you not get the rules or something?”  
“I have never played a computer game before.” Elijah tilted the phone as if he’d find a magic button somewhere that would instantly grant him knowledge on what he was missing. Micah’s jaw dropped.  
“ _Never?_ But you told me you _build_ computers!”  
“Well, that is not the same thing, is it?” Elijah snipped gently, pressing a button to restart the game.

They were halfway through a fourth round when Micah felt something twist nauseatingly in his belly and he gagged, bringing a hand to his mouth and pushing the computer off his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take deep breaths as he heard the sounds of Elijah swiftly putting aside the phone, moving the laptop, and felt the sensation of his best friend perching on the edge of the couch next to him with a worried hum.

“I don’t wanna throw up again, El.” Micah whimpered and he felt a soothing hand settled over his tummy, the other finding his shoulder and neck and massaging carefully.  
“I know, just try to relax, maybe it will pass.”  
“My tummy hurts so fucking much, it feels like it’s turned inside out.”

“I know, I’m so sorry.” Elijah crooned and smoothed his fingers over the throbbing place just behind Micah’s ear. “I’m so sorry you don’t feel well.” His other hand made comforting circles over Micah’s stomach, easing a few cramps and eliciting another whine. He was careful not to press down too hard against the sore places but it felt like he was working magic with his rough, warm palm. “Do you think you would be able to take some medicine and keep it down?” 

Elijah’s voice was so sad and so tender, Micah couldn’t help but feel himself relaxing just a little, managing to open his eyes and peer into his friend’s concerned blue ones.  
“Isn’t your medicine usually expired?” Micah choked out a giggle, feeling another small bit better when a hint of a smile quirked over Elijah’s lips in response.  
“I refreshed it recently. I suppose taking medicine often slips my mind, but I do make an attempt to keep the first aid kit stocked. Perhaps I have been lax with it lately, but everything should be well in-date at the moment. I could bring you something for the nausea?”

Micah considered, then sighed and sank further into Elijah’s gentle hold. “Okay. But will you _please_ get up here and sit with me when you come back?” He gave his best friend a near-tearful glare, and Elijah chuckled very sympathetically.  
“Alright Micah, I will. Lay still and take deep breaths for a few moments.”

Elijah gave him a couple of loving pats and then rose from the couch, and Micah closed his eyes, breathing slowly and listening to the sounds of his friend moving about in the kitchen. A cabinet opened and closed, then the fridge, and a glass of something was poured. When soft footsteps moved back over towards him, Micah pried open his eyelids again and held his arms up demandingly.

Elijah set aside the medicine and iced glass of electrolyte-infused water on the little end table and leaned down, scooping Micah into his strong and caring arms and settling back down on the couch with him. He pulled the blankets back over both of them and strategically arranged some pillows before he picked up the small tray and brought it around for Micah to reach.

“The liquid stuff tastes like shit.” Micah complained, eyeing the little plastic cup, and Elijah gave his wrist a friendly pinch.  
“It will absorb faster into your system than a dose of pills would, and hopefully help you feel better sooner.”

Micah sighed dramatically and picked up the medicine, knocking it back with a grimace and a shudder and taking a couple of too-quick gulps of the water as Elijah patted his back reproachfully.

With the taste washed away and the nausea creeping back in again, Micah tugged at Elijah insistently until his best friend stretched out on the couch, then he pulled up Elijah’s shirt so he could press his own sore, rumbling tummy against the broad, flat plane of his friend’s stomach. He was a really good heating pad.

“C’n you rub my back, El?” Micah mumbled pleadingly as he buried his head in Elijah’s chest, and sighed with relief when big hands immediately settled over his shoulders and began to rub and soothe methodically.  
“Of course, Micah, try to take deep breaths.” Elijah whispered, nestling his chin down over Micah’s curls and holding him closely.  
“Maybe I should just admit m’dying and get it over with.” Micah whined, and felt a gentle but scolding thump on the back of his neck. “Ouch.”  
“I did not hurt you.” Elijah reprimanded him. “You know I don’t like it when you talk that way.”

Micah fell into sulky silence for a long few minutes, his tummy grumbling against Elijah’s, his cheek smushed into his best friend’s sternum. Slowly, as the tension from his back eased out with the massage and he started feeling a little less sick, he felt his annoyance melt away to be replaced by a sense of regret.  
“M’sorry, El.”  
“It’s alright. I know you aren’t feeling well. Just try to get some rest.”  
“I’m a real ass when m’sick, huh?”  
Elijah sighed, and kissed his forehead. “Understandably so.”  
Micah sniffed and curled a hand in Elijah’s shirt.  
“Thanks, dude. Love you, too.”

The medicine seemingly kicked in not ten minutes later, and Micah had half a mind to ask Elijah if he’d given him something that would make him drowsy on purpose — but then again, he supposed he was really just that tired from throwing up all night. He fell asleep, so deeply that he didn’t stir for hours, didn’t even feel himself gently moved and tucked back in, when Elijah got up to make a light, easy-to-digest soup. He did wake up when the aroma started filling the apartment, though.

“El?” Micah croaked into the darkness, and a moment later, someone’s familiar arms curled around him and lifted him into the air. “What day’sit?”  
“Friday. About three in the morning.” Elijah held him close as he paced the floor, cradled in his arms like a literal toddler. It felt nice, honestly. Like he was getting to move around without actually having to get up.

“You cooking at three in th’morning?” Micah yawned, and stretched a little, confident his best friend wouldn’t drop him. He sighed deeply when he relaxed again and let his forehead sink against a solid chest.  
“Your stomach was beginning to growl.” Elijah’s voice came back, sounding somewhat amused. “I thought it might be a good opportunity to encourage it. How are you feeling?”  
“Sore.” Micah whimpered, squirming a little to get comfortable when Elijah sat back down on the couch with him. “Sweaty. Thirsty.”  
“You are very sweaty.” His best friend teased gently, before combing a comforting hand through his curls. “Not as nauseous though, I hope? Do you think you could handle something to drink?”  
“Please.” Micah whispered, then tried not to drink too fast when a cup was quickly brought to his lips.

Elijah filled a mug with soup when it was ready, cleaning up and putting away the dishes before he brought it over to where he’d arranged Micah as comfortably as possible on a new, less-sweaty section of the couch. He sat next to him and offered the cup, again letting Micah wrap both his hands around his big one, but not letting go.  
“Try to go very slowly and carefully, Micah.”  
“Mmm. It’s really fucking good.”  
“I am glad you like it. That is also a good sign that you are hungry and will be feeling mostly better again before too long.”

“Damn. Finally.” Micah griped, swallowing another mouthful of the broth. There were very small pieces of noodles that had been steeped so long they practically melted on his tongue, and even smaller bits of chicken, cooked to a heavenly tenderness. It gave him something to chew on slightly every other swallow, made him feel a little full, which was a relief after feeling so achy and hollow all night and all day. He really hoped he wouldn’t throw it back up.

But his tummy really _did_ feel better; it twinged just a little with the soup settling warmly inside of him, but it didn’t lurch or churn and he hiccuped once without feeling like he was going to bring up a wave of the meal with it. Elijah still gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, though. The taste was savory but not so salty that it would make him feel sick. 

“I c’n go back to sleep now, right?” Micah yawned again once he’d emptied the mug and Elijah set it aside. Oh, he felt so much better. His belly felt warm and comfortable for the first time in what felt like ages, and then, Elijah’s tucked a hand up under his shirt and began rubbing a soothing pattern over the burbly places in his tummy, working his fingers down his sides, beneath his ribs. A little burp slid up and Micah sighed with satisfaction.  
“Of course. I emailed your professors by the way, and explained your absences to them.”

Micah made a face and cracked an eye open again. “You did what? On my computer?”  
“Yes indeed.”  
“Don’t I have a password on that thing?” Micah muttered, then felt Elijah give a very short laugh.  
“Do you really think a password would keep me out, Micah?”  
“Geez, that’s reassuring.”  
Elijah petted his head again. “I promise, I never touch your devices without either your direct permission or a very good reason to do so.”  
“They’d be able to tell that your style of emails is way different than mine, though.”  
“Actually, I think I am quite skilled at forging your pattern of speaking and writing.”  
“Asshole.”

Elijah chuckled and Micah curled further into his embrace as his eyes fell shut once more, and he sank into the first deep, restful sleep he’d had in two days.

—

When he woke up again, it was late morning, possibly early afternoon.

The curtains were drawn, but the room smelled better, felt a little cooler, as if Elijah had opened the window for a short period of time to bring a little fresh air in. Micah had been bundled up thoroughly in blankets, with pillows stacked on either side of him. He yawned and sank back into them again, calling out so he wouldn’t have to move.  
“El?”

A moment passed, then Elijah appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, looking apologetic and holding his cell in one hand, a washcloth in the other. He pocketed the device as he crossed the room and sat down next to Micah on the couch again.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, then raised the cloth, which turned out to be damp, and wiped it across Micah’s forehead. Micah couldn’t restrain a groan of relief. He felt _so_ sticky and gross.  
“My tummy feels mostly back to normal…I think.” Micah turned his head so Elijah could continue bathing his face and neck with the cool cloth. “That feels so good, though. Why’d you look so guilty just now?”

Elijah sighed softly. “I was attempting to reach my supervisors to ask if I could drop the commitment I made this weekend, but they denied my request.”

It took a few seconds for that to click for Micah, and he felt himself frowning deeply. It was Friday, and Elijah _had_ told him earlier this week he would be on the streets that upcoming weekend. Micah had made plans to stay with Sasha, but…  
“I think Sasha would still let me come over.” Micah murmured sadly, hardly even able to enjoy it when Elijah slid a hand over his belly and started rubbing softly, just to reassure him. 

“If it is any comfort, I very much doubt you are still contagious by this point. She would face very little risk of catching this from you. And I will be very careful to not breathe on anything unnecessarily.” Elijah smiled faintly, clearly hoping to cheer Micah up. It worked.

“You’ll take me over there?” Micah perked up hopefully, and Elijah immediately reached over to ruffle his curls.  
“Of course. I would not let you go over there alone like _this_ , Micah, give me a little credit.”  
“Damn. You’re sassy today.”  
“I have every right to be.”

Micah laughed, feeling a sense of relief that he felt okay to do so without wincing from a headache or a stomach cramp. Maybe he really was getting on the upswing. A moment later though, his humor faded and he looked over at his best friend in concern.

“Elijah… you’ve been up like two nights in a row with me… and you might get sick all of the sudden. Are you _sure_ you can’t miss whatever this thing is? You’re gonna be so fucking tired and I hate to think what might happen if you suddenly keel over in the middle of a fight or something.”  
“Unfortunately not.” Elijah sighed, scrubbing a corner of the damp washcloth along Micah’s hairline, leaving his skin feeling refreshed and tingly. “But I will be careful Micah, I promise. I will let you know when I finish and come back here, as well.”  
“Yeah, you’d better.” Micah mumbled, then lifted his arms again so Elijah would scoop him up and take him into the bedroom to change clothes.

They both ate a little bit of oatmeal before leaving the house; plain and bland but mercifully easy on Micah’s tummy. He was dressed with his coat buttoned around him, but Elijah also wrapped him in a quilt once they sat down on the bus and held him close in a big hug. Micah fell asleep on his best friend’s chest while Elijah called Sasha, told her what was going on, assured her he didn’t think she had to worry about catching anything, and thanked her deeply for being willing to finish the job of “nurse.” Micah barely heard a word of it.

He felt Elijah lift him, coat, quilt, and all, and carry him off the bus when they got to their stop, wondering silently how odd they looked to any strangers on the sidewalk. Luckily there weren’t many people out; the slushy state of melting snow made the outdoors generally unpleasant this time of year.

Reaching Sasha’s door though, and hearing her affectionately amused tone gave Micah the strength to pry his eyes open, and he grinned at his girlfriend sheepishly when she stepped aside to let both of them through.  
“You look like such a lump, babe.” She giggled as she closed the door behind them. Elijah toed off his boots before carrying Micah over to the couch, and the girl followed them, planting a kiss on her boyfriend’s forehead once he’d been settled on the corner sofa. “Well, you don’t feel like you have a fever at least.”

“His fever broke about ten hours ago.” Elijah informed her as he tugged Micah’s coat off and went to hang it up by the door. He returned and shrugged off Micah’s backpack, which he’d carried over his own shoulders, and set it down by the couch. “Thank you Sasha, truly. I cannot tell you how relieved I am that I do not have to leave him at his dorm for the remainder of the weekend.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not even here.” Micah complained, squirming a little when Elijah reached down to ruffle his curls. “Ugh… my tummy’s getting upset again…”  
“Possibly from moving around so much?” Elijah sat on the couch next to him and placed a hand over his stomach, massaging gentle circles into the sore muscles. “Sasha, do you have any tea? Or nausea suppressants? Micah has barely kept anything down in forty-eight hours.”

“I’ve got tea.” Sasha spoke up over Micah’s groan of relief, moving over to the kitchen cabinet with a flick of her wings and pulling out a mug. “I can text one of my roommates and see if she’d be okay with me going into her medicine stash later?”

“Do you have to leave right away?” Micah whispered drowsily up at Elijah, whose face softened before he wrapped him in a hug and held him gently.  
“Not right away.” He whispered back, then lifted his head and answered Sasha. “If you would be willing, I think that would be very helpful.”

Micah cuddled into Elijah’s embrace, only straightening up to accept the mug of peppermint tea that Sasha brought to him, giving his girlfriend a weak but grateful smile and sighing softly in comfort when she sat down at his other side and rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

Blissfully, for about an hour, Micah sipped on the warm mug and rested between the two people he loved most, not feeling his best but feeling worlds better than he would have alone and without their warmth and comfort. He’d been dozing for a while, the empty mug taken from his hands and set aside, when Sasha moved to check her phone and gave him a little poke.  
“Hey baby?”  
“Mm?”  
“Jewel says we can raid her meds. I’m gonna get you something for your tummy, okay?”  
“Yes, please.” Micah mumbled, and felt Sasha squeeze his hand before she got up. He opened his eyes and looked up into Elijah’s tired face.

“El… I’m scared you’re gonna get hurt.”  
“I cannot say for certain what will happen. I have very little control over the outcomes of my assignments. I will do my utmost _not_ to be hurt.” His best friend gave him a little squeeze and Micah sighed.  
“Can you text me like every five hours and tell me your dumb ass isn’t dead yet?”  
Elijah smiled faintly. “I will make an effort to send you regular updates, yes.”  
“Can you tell Sasha how to make that chicken soup?”

His best friend looked more amused. “You might try having a bit of faith in her, Micah. I have every confidence she will know how best to feed you to keep you comfortable and—“

Elijah stopped. 

Time stopped.

A moment hung frozen. Sasha stood, startled at the intensity of the gaze that Elijah had locked on her. Or rather, on the innocuous little white bottle of pills in her hand. Micah looked between them, feeling as though his breath was caught in his throat. Sasha looked understandably bewildered, but Elijah…

If Micah lived a hundred years, he’d never be able to put a name to the mix of terror and dread he saw in his best friend’s eyes in that endless, frozen moment.

“Sasha.” Elijah was on his feet. “What is that.” In a single movement, he snatched the bottle of pills from her hand. She jumped back, almost frightened.  
“It’s— just meds, El.”  
“Where did it come from.” Elijah was asking questions, but they were so cold, so exact, they sounded more like statements. Harsh, dire statements. His blue eyes burned.  
“Jewel, my roommate. Duh. I just said that, not three minutes ago.”  
“No. Not this. Put it back.”   
“What is _up_ with you? What’s wrong?”

Elijah suddenly seethed, holding up the bottle in a clenched fist. The plastic creaked under the strength of his grasp. His knuckles were white. “Everbright. Everbright pharmacy. They cannot be trusted. _Never_ use anything that comes with this label. Get rid of it, if you can.”  
“Can’t.” Sasha told him matter-of-factly, holding up a placating hand, her eyes turning gentle. “It’s not mine, Elijah. Maybe you should take a deep breath, okay? You’re getting really worked up.”

Elijah listened to her. Micah watched him take a deep breath and let it out slowly, shuddering on the exhale. His hands fell down by his sides again and he even nearly dropped the pill bottle. Sasha reached out to take it from him and he handed it back to her with trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry, Sasha. I didn’t mean—“  
“It’s okay, Elijah. I know you didn’t mean to scare me. I believe you.” She sighed. “And I believe that you know what you’re talking about with this, okay? I won’t use anything that comes from Everbright pharmacy. I’ll warn Jewel, too.”  
“Yes.” Elijah swallowed hard and turned back towards the couch. Micah closed his hanging jaw and reached out a hand to pull his best friend back down next to him for cuddles, but Elijah kept his feet and gently brushed him off.  
“I should go, Micah.”

“Tell me what’s up first.” Micah insisted, his gaze darting to where Sasha disappeared through the door to return the medicine before he looked back up into Elijah’s face. “What’s wrong with Everbright pharmacy?”  
“It is very complicated, and I need to go.” Elijah leaned over to kiss Micah’s forehead, tucking the quilt around him more warmly, and gave his tummy one final, loving pat. “I hope you feel better.”

“No, wait—“ Micah managed to catch his friend’s sleeve as he tried to pull away. “You don’t get it, El. I’m not asking just because I’m curious. I _know_ Everbright pharmacy.”

Elijah froze. His hollow eyes flitted up to stare into Micah’s soul. “What?”

Micah suddenly had to swallow, thickly. “Uh. Stephanie. Mom’s girlfriend. That’s where she worked — or maybe, I dunno, maybe where she still works. But they got shut down for a while, so she might have transferred somewhere else before they started back up again.”

A solid thirty seconds passed in absolute silence. Then the eyes that looked back at him suddenly turned into those of a stranger’s. Micah bit his lip, clutching at the sleeve in his hand even tighter, hoping to pull Elijah back.

“Micah.” The stranger growled in a very low voice. “When did Megan begin dating Stephanie?”

Sasha reentered the room, and Micah turned his head to look pleadingly at her. Maybe she could figure out what—

Strong hands suddenly latched around his shoulders and shoved him forcefully back against the couch. Sasha gasped, and Micah shook, or maybe it was the stranger’s hands on him, shaking with _rage_ —

“ _Answer_ me, Micah! When did Megan start dating Stephanie??”  
“Freshman year!” Micah sobbed out, grasping at the stranger’s arms and frantically searching for his best friend in his face. Sasha stood across the room, hand over her mouth in shock. “The spring before freshman year started!”  
“And how did Megan die?” The words were snarled, vicious. Blue eyes burned. “How did she die??”

“I don’t know! No one knows!” Micah cried harder. “The doctors didn’t know! She j-just— she wasn’t feeling so good one morning and then th-they— took her to the emergency room a-and—“  
“Her organs began shutting down one by one.” The words were hissed.   
“Y-yeah, that’s—“ Micah sobbed and the hands suddenly released him as he buried his face in his hands. “That’s w-what they said.”

The room was silent for a long moment as Micah cried, shoulders shaking. Then a hand tucked under his chin, lifted his face up, and Elijah was there, looking into him with depthless sorrow and fury.  
“I’m so sorry, Micah. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry—“ Elijah leaned down and kissed his cheek, his head, and pulled away, headed for the door, yanked on his boots. Micah wanted to ask him to stay—  
“I’ll make this right. I’ll fucking make this right.” Elijah grabbed his coat.

Micah felt a pang of guilt. For thinking of Elijah like a stranger.  
The hands that had been on his shoulders, no matter how angry the person they’d belonged to, hadn’t once squeezed too tight. A stranger would have hurt him. Elijah never, ever would.  
“El! Wait, please! Why does it _matter?_ ”

Before shutting the door behind himself, Elijah looked back over his shoulder and Micah vaguely registered that his best friend was crying too, before the answer gripped him, stopped his heart.

“Because that’s how Brielle died.”

Then Elijah was gone, Sasha was hurrying over to give him a hug, and the door was slamming shut.

—

 _I’ll fucking make this right_.

The streets were a blur. Elijah tore through them at a run, boots scraping the asphalt, sobs breaking between his teeth as his fingers punched desperately at the buttons of his phone.

It was never _enough_ , was it? No matter where, no matter who, her filthy hands were _everywhere_ , choking the light from the city, ruining lives and _slaughtering_ loved ones…

Hands. Ice cold talons. Sinking claws into every crevice, every crack, every corner.

The call he’d placed ended in a dial tone and he roared, slammed aside a gate in frustration, leapt over a low wall. He ran. He placed the call again.

He’d kill her. He’d burn her alive. He’d listen to her _scream_.

Someone picked up. He brought the phone to his ear but for a moment couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_ — a wave of righteous anger rushed over the back of his head, he felt he’d drown in it. He couldn’t see straight, he couldn’t _breathe_. He hated her— he hated her he hated _her he hated he_ ** _hated he hated_** —

“ _I’ll kill her!_ ” He screamed into the receiver, and he heard Mary give a confused, but relatively unsurprised sigh. “I’ll burn her _alive!_ ”  
“Oh El, are you drunk again?”

Elijah pried his gritted teeth apart, stumbled into an alley where he could burn alive with rage in peace. “No. No. Mary, I need your help.”  
“What happened, love?”  
“Hard to explain. Just— no it doesn’t _fucking matter_. Doesn’t matter what. I know now. I _know_ what happened. I need your help. I’m gonna make this fucking right.”  
“What do you need my help for, Elijah?”

“I think _—“_ Oh, he could scream. He could scream and throw the phone to the concrete, set fire to the city, watch everything burn _. “_ I think _—_!“  
“You have to get it out, sweetheart. What do you think?”

He fell to his knees, the shaking in his joints refusing to hold up under him any longer. He was a maddened, slavering thing, burning with anger and hate. He frothed with it. It flooded him.

“I think Myra _killed Micah’s_ ** _mother!_** ”


	21. More Important Than Anything Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah takes action against those who have wronged Micah. He is injured in the process, and returns to Micah to explain and to be cared for. There are many far-reaching consequences that result, and old memories are beginning to resurface.

“Elijah, sweetheart, I know you’re angry right now, but this is unreasonable. You _cannot_ simply throw away all of your hard work on the attachments of a friend.”

“It’s not— I’m not _throwing_ anything away!” Elijah seethed back, his breath catching on his words in rage, as he paced the alley, struggled not to continue running at full speed towards headquarters. He’d get there faster on foot than if he went below ground and waited on a train, but he _had_ to convince Mary that— “The longer we wait in the shadows, the stronger Myra grows! Being patient has it’s limits— if we sit here, if we do _nothing_ for years and years while I wade through school— it’s _stupid_ , it’s pointless! This will send a _message_ if nothing else! There are ways to turn this into something that benefits _all_ involved and I will _not_ stand by and do nothing when Micah—“

“I tried to warn you love, this is what would happen if you did not make an effort to separate from this boy earlier on.” Mary’s voice was so gentle, so _infuriating_. “You’re losing sight of the bigger picture. You’re not doing ‘nothing’ while you’re ‘wading through school,’ you’re building those important connections that we need, the foundation from where we can launch a real opposition. You’re taking ground.”

“I have enough ground to do _this_.” Elijah hissed, anger surging through his veins with a molten heat. It powered him, it razed his thoughts. “I know my resources, I know my strengths. I can do this, and it—“  
“You know better than this, honey. I _know_ you do.”  
“Please.” Elijah gasped, clutching the phone tighter, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened. “There _is_ nothing better than this! This is _Micah!_ He’s my best friend, I’d— I’d do _anything_ for him. I can’t let Myra prey on him and his loved ones— it’s not about his _attachments_. Myra got what she wanted by murdering Megan, but what happens if Stephanie ever tries to refuse again?”

“You are making a lot of assumptions and a lot of guesses that might not all add up to what you think they will, love.”  
“Inaction is not worth the risk if I’m _right_.” Elijah snarled, leaning heavily against the wall, trembling with anger, with hatred— it poured from him, filled the space around— then Mary…  
“I’m not going to help you with this, Elijah. I thought we’d agreed upon your needing to keep your distance from Micah.”

Elijah felt the first tendrils of dread begin to creep in. As he’d healed from the beating at Tenner’s behest, Mary had spoken to him at length, convincing him slowly and gently that it was better for both he and Micah if they were to separate. He’d agreed… and determined to tell Micah the same, but his best friend hadn’t stood for it. Elijah had been so relieved, so grateful that he hadn’t…

 _Micah_ …

“Micah didn’t want me to go.” Elijah swallowed, willing Mary to please just _listen_ , please just _hear_ him… “Micah didn’t want us to separate… he understands there’s a risk, but he… wanted to… stay with me.”  
“Oh, sweetheart. I know you love him. That’s why you have to be strong enough to do the right thing, here. If you truly love this boy, you won’t put him in harm’s way just so you don’t have to be lonely.”  
“But—“

“It’s in all of us, love, I’m certainly not innocent of the same thing. That selfish instinct, to hold people close to us, no matter the harm that might come of it. That selfish instinct might get Micah killed someday, Elijah. Micah might realize there’s some danger associated with being your friend, but I can assure you he doesn’t understand the full scope of things. You know better than he does, and you need to take the responsibility to protect him by—“

“I have to do this.” Elijah shivered, interrupting Mary like that, but he swallowed again and kept going. “I have to do this, to protect him, and maybe if he sees the fallout, he’ll understand the risks better, and we can talk about things again, but I _have_ to do this. Micah is more important to me than anything else.”

There was a long silence and Elijah started to tremble harder, telling himself it was just from the damp and pervasive cold, hanging about the world in a mist. Winter was slowly losing its harsh grasp. Spring was still weeks away, but the snow no longer fell from the sky, instead melting and refreezing underfoot each night into slush and slick ice.

“If you do this, Elijah, I will consider it disobedience.”

Something clenched in his stomach and Elijah lifted a hand to press against his middle, suddenly feeling very unwell. He swallowed hard and tried to think. How long would he go without her shelter this time? He tried to remind himself it was different now; he had his own apartment, his own savings; he wouldn’t go hungry or without a bed… then he realized it didn’t matter. Micah was more important than anything else.

He thought of his best friend then, wrapped up on Sasha’s low corner sofa, hopefully sleeping, hopefully feeling better. Elijah felt a sudden pang of fierce regret— he’d grabbed Micah so roughly, had he hurt him? Had he squeezed too hard? Micah had cried…

He had to apologize. As soon as this was over, he needed to tell Micah how sorry he was, that he didn’t mean to hurt him; he’d just suddenly been so _scared_ , so angry, but no, that was no excuse…  
He was sorry. He was so sorry…

“When can I—“ _come back?_  

Mary was quiet for another moment, probably thinking, deciding on a good length of time for him to keep his distance, learn his lesson. “The agreement we’ve arranged with Zeowyn. If you succeed when you speak with them, call me right afterwards, and you can come over here and we’ll talk about how things will look from there on out.”

That was weeks out. Elijah felt something crush a little, deep inside his chest, felt like a child again, trying to hold back the tears even as Mary assured him it was for his own good…

“I— what if something happens when… as I carry this out?”  
“Meaning?”  
“If I—“ … _get hurt_ … “—sustain injury?”  
“You have to understand there are consequences for your actions, honey. If something happens, you need to take it on your own two feet. You’ll have to deal with it on your own.”

Elijah pulled the phone away from his face for a moment, just long enough to scrub the tear tracks off his cheeks, but when he put the receiver back to his ear and took a breath, he heard Mary sigh deeply.

“Remember that I still love you, sweetheart. I’ll speak with you in a few weeks. Good luck.”  
“Mary, wait—!”

The dial tone sounded, and Elijah stood stiffly, trembling for a moment longer before he pocketed his phone.  
Where was he again?

 _Myra murdered Micah’s mother_.

He clenched his teeth once more and stormed into the street, set on the route to headquarters.

——————

Pushing his way through the door of headquarters at the lower level didn’t incite much of a reaction. A few people glanced his way — perhaps a couple of them looked vaguely mystified by the deadly look in his eyes — but carried on with business as usual as he strode purposefully towards the third door from the left.

Elijah tried to reign himself in, tried to lock into place his usual, reserved exterior, but he knew even as he descended the stairs that his expression must burn with the anger that simmered and sparked and surged in his chest. He told himself he’d speak respectfully, of course. He would stay precise and direct. But he would _not_ be cowed—

He swept into the room like a breaking tide and Raul Tenner was on his feet immediately, that smug, snappish look in his eyes — that never-ending humor meant to display his utter confidence and derisive, dismissive nature, and for a moment Elijah lost all reason; he couldn’t _stand_ it — being toyed with, being looked down on when there was so much at _stake—!_

“I’m going to attack Myra at the street level.” Elijah snarled out before the first taunt could leave Tenner’s parted lips.

Silence reigned heavily for a long moment. A moment during which Tenner’s eyes darkened and narrowed, and the others in the room began to hold their breath, one by one.

Normally, that might have scared Elijah.  
But the tendrils of rage that coursed through his thoughts and fingertips left room for little else. He’d never been less afraid of anyone in his life.

When Tenner moved, he came around the table with shoulders squared and muscles tense, and for a split second, Elijah’s thoughts went up in a rush of heat and light and clarity. If Tenner moved to strike him or grab him, he was going to fight _back_. As it was, he moved closer, as though to meet the man halfway; knees locking, fists clenching in preparation for a swing, and he would _never_ forget the look of shock that crossed his boss’ face; the man who’d trained him for four years to flinch away from his every move.

Even if Tenner threw him to the ground and crushed his skull within the space of the next breath he took, for a moment, Elijah could _swear_ he saw hesitation in the dark eyes that loomed above him.

 _Maybe he cared less about his own life than he ever had before. Maybe he’d finally realized how very little he mattered, how he was only a tool in the game, and now he’d use himself to get what he needed; he’d let the need and anger and the goal before him morph his hands to scalpels, cut away until he reached the heart, the heart of the problem, let himself be molded and shaped into purpose and accomplishment and it didn’t_ ** _matter_** _if he was safe or not, it didn’t_ ** _matter_** —

“I am going to attack a branch of Myra’s organization at the street level.” Elijah repeated, words sharp and heated, his will bent towards the man before him. “It would be more successful if I had access to the resources of headquarters.”

Finally the silence was broken, as Tenner laughed his hideous laugh and moved closer to Elijah again, but Elijah mirrored him and held his ground.

“Is that so? Boy, what in Corda’s _name_ do you think you’re going to accomplish by storming down here and making demands like that?”  
“This isn’t a _demand_.” Elijah hissed back, and the rage bubbled up in his throat, flames licking at his teeth. “This is an _offer_. A proposition, if you will. I make my attack, using my resources here to assist me, and if successful, you and your inner circle get the credit. I walk away, faceless and nameless.”

“ _Assuming_ you would be successful. You’re out of your mind, kid. Something personal happened and you’re trying to launch an opposition purely by your wits and your emotions. This kind of shit is doomed-to-fail from the _start_.”

“ _Is_ it?” Elijah trembled with hatred and the air around him crackled with it. Tenner shifted his weight and Elijah stood _taller_ , chin lifted, jaw clenched, a challenge burning, burning in his eyes. Something was snapping inside of him. Maybe it was his reason dissolving. Maybe it was his sense.

“You sit here like a dragon on your hoard, never making pursuits, waiting for everything to come to _you_ , coasting solely on your power and never lifting a finger to take new ground. I will do the _work_ for you. Take whatever results, I don’t _care_ — but I have a lot more reason to succeed than the average conniving constituent; ready to back out the moment the profit drops! I have a _stake_ in this, I have a motivation, a _drive!_ ”

Elijah didn’t even see Tenner’s hand move towards his belt, but he saw the knife coming up towards him, too late. He fell back against the wall with a gasp of pain, a crimson streak opening up across his chest and collarbone, not deep though, it was clearly a warning. A warning he wouldn’t heed.

Elijah kept going, his voice raising higher in his anger as he went, “Lukewarm, half-assed bids for money _never_ take new ground in this city! Maybe things _need_ to start being personal around here! Maybe I can do a lot more with a lot less than you give me credit for, if you could only look beyond whatever wealth is already amassed beneath you! Things have been stagnant here for _far too long!_ If I succeed, you benefit. If I don’t, I take the fall for you and you can wash your hands of me and all that follows!”

Huge hands clamped around his neck, and the world disappeared in a blaze of white-hot agony as Elijah’s head was slammed back against the stone wall. He felt the pain radiate down his spine, but he lifted his gaze again with nothing but cold defiance. Maybe Tenner would kill him after all. It didn’t much matter, anyways.

“Think about it.” Elijah wheezed, lips curling back in a snarl, vision greying. With his last breath, he managed to whisper, perhaps his final words. “You… have nothing… to lose.”

Tenner was breathing heavily — why? It wasn’t as if he’d exerted himself. Elijah ragdolled in his hold, helpless as a child, as impotent against the man as the day he’d first set foot before him, years ago. 

Maybe Tenner was just that angry. Maybe they were both unrecognizable beasts; mauled from the inside out by their hatred — hatred for each other, for the world. Maybe Tenner would kill him and maybe he wouldn’t, but for a moment, all they were amounted to nothing; all their anger and their ferocity burning, shifting, _fading_ … 

Elijah tasted blood before he realized that Tenner had released him. He was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, face to the concrete, gums bleeding. His vision was slow in returning, and when he drew a breath, one he hadn’t been sure he would get, it tore through his starved lungs like a plunging knife. He began to cough, chest heaving for air, stars glinting behind his eyelids as his head pulsed with agony. He was drooling red onto the floor.

Tenner was stone-still, silent, staring down at him forbiddingly. Elijah rolled his head to the side so he could assess the gaze on him.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were those of Elijah’s labored breathing, his wretched gasps. Normally, he might try to hide them, in a desperate attempt to appear in control of himself. But he had nothing. No semblance of control remained inside him. And Tenner knew it.

“Make your attack.” His boss laughed suddenly, moving away. His boots scraped the floor as he turned on his heel. “Use what you need. If you’re successful, I’ll be impressed with you. If you’re not, I’ll kill you myself if you set foot here again.”

Elijah pushed himself up onto his hands, shaking, panting. His lips split over his teeth again — was it a smile? A sneer?  
“Deal.” The word rattled out, a croak on his blood-stained breath. 

One battle of many, won.

——————

Elijah nearly fell through the door of the tiny hideout once he’d wrestled the lock open. He wasn’t in _that_ bad of shape — except for the pervasive exhaustion that dragged at his thoughts, the tremors still running through his shoulders. The gash across his chest. He’d be fine. He had too much to do to give into his body’s demands now.

The space was small; little more than a cot, a cramped bathroom stall, and a tiny kitchenette, but it was enough for him to rest for just a short time, tend to his wound, gather his thoughts. Maybe change his shirt.

He switched on the dingy, flickering light above the sink and peered at his reflection, averting his eyes from his own face and the heaviness there, instead focusing on his chest, leaning in to peer at it more closely, assess the damage. It could use stitches, but if he put those in _now_ then they’d tug at him for however long his attack would take. It would slow him down, and worse, would be a point of weakness if he wasn’t careful about hiding it. The smallest hesitation in his movements, the smallest flicker of strain as he turned or bent would broadcast to _anyone_ with a trained eye: _Injured! Weak! Ineffective! Incompetent!_

He could put a patch over it for now, layer it solidly with gauze to keep any blood from showing through his clothes. Thankfully, his coat had been open over his chest when he had confronted Tenner, so it had been spared the path of the knife, and would be easy to button up over the injury and hide it even further. Elijah resolved to stitch the gash whenever he next got back to his apartment. He could clean it more thoroughly there, anyways.

He forced himself to lean over, his fingers to grasp the handle of the cabinet, pull it open. He dictated every motion for himself; _do this, now that_ — _take the medical kit out, search the contents, sit down and work_.

He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be out, on the streets, hunting her _down_ , making her _answer_ for what— 

_It had been years ago._

_That morning_ , _with heat roiling across his skin_ , _knuckles scraped_ _bloody and bruises_ _decorating his_ _cheeks_ , _he had decided to get there walking backwards. The pain kept him sharp and the inability to look behind him kept him measuring his every footstep._

 _It had been a good distraction_.

_He jumped a low brick wall facing forwards, just because_ _he didn’t really feel like toppling over backwards. A berry briar had rooted itself precariously in the cracked grout, and he stooped to pluck the one ripened fru_ _it from the thorny sprig. It burst into tartness between his teeth and he remembered that he used to love summer. He also remembered that he was hungry._

_There hadn’t been time, really. Not really. To eat anything before — and then he had been glad he hadn’t. He still remembered the curling sickness in his belly as he held the boy’s body and cried, shook with sobs. His boss had scoffed and the others had ridiculed. Kids died in gangs all the time. What was one more little boy with a missing throat?_

Anger boiled inside him. It was her fault, _her doing_ , the shockwave of her corruption, spreading throughout the city, taking it all, taking _everything!_

The power of that rage made him shake. Energy that rose up and took control, infested him. The hatred carved away his insides. Scarred him, scraped him clean.

He wasn’t hungry. In fact, his stomach hurt, but he knew he needed something. Anything. Anything to keep him going long enough to tear out her roots, burn away the undergrowth, chase out her influence from one single darkened, twisted corner.   
_Burn it down…_

 _The fire wasn’t big enough. Of course it wasn’t. He had only been one kid, and the church was huge, and there had been too many eyes around, too many— not enough_ —   
_His sister had been cold by the time they’d let him into the hospital room. Someone had already closed her eyes_.  
_It was his fault._

Elijah choked on a swallow of something — tea? He’d somehow managed to completely autopilot his way through making a cup of tea. He almost wanted to laugh. Chamomile, as if he was planning to lay down, close his eyes, slip off into nothingness. 

He shifted to set the mug aside and something crinkled under his hip. A wrapper; no, two wrappers. Granola bars. He’d probably eaten them in a few bites and hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t noticed. 

_And then— he looked above him. He could barely make out their face in the gloom of night, but he could tell their grip was precarious, could tell they weren’t standing up there simply to get a view._

_An animalistic terror gripped him and he reached up — foolishly, pointlessly, as if he could catch them when they came plummeting down — and a strangled, desperate cry left his lips, “No!! What are you doing?! Don’t-!! Don’t fall! Please don’t fall!!“”_

**_I CAN’T LET IT HAPPEN TO ANYONE ELSE!!_ **

Elijah woke with a shout, some meaningless bellow as he clawed away the darkness, the heaviness at his eyes, and still wrapped in the panic of the dream, he grabbed the first thing in reach and hurled it with all his strength.

The mirror above the sink shattered with a crash and, still confused, disoriented, he jumped away from the sound, slipped off the cot, banged his chin on the floor and tasted blood.

The medical kit lay open, contents strewn across the floor along with dazzling shards of glass, and he laid there, and wept, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for breath, and gazed sightlessly at his destroyed reflection. When he registered it was himself and not an enemy who was taking an unbelievably long time to shoot him, he shuddered.  
“I… _hate_ you… so much…” 

Silence reigned while he gasped for breath and tried to gather his thoughts. After a few minutes he curled in on himself, shaking with a another sob, fist clenching against the floor before he pressed his knuckles into his tightly-shut eyes.

“Micah…” Elijah whispered. His voice trembled and he coughed around another lump of tears. “I’m so sorry…”

Why hadn’t he _seen_ it?? Myra’s organization making the move to partner with Everbright pharmacy had been the deciding factor in Mary agreeing to send him to school. With the enemy making moves out of regulated government and into the very healthcare infrastructure, it was prudent, even necessary, to try to gain a foothold in opposition to her.

He’d _known_ about the murders. He’d known about everything that Myra had preyed on in order to get what she wanted. And then just a couple of months later, before the first day of school, he’d met Micah, recently bereft, his adoptive mother taken from him. The timing had been _exact_. He should have _known_. He should have— _he should have_ — 

He’d been too blinded by his own selfishness. He’d found someone who struggled in the same ways that he had, and some desperate, childish part of him had thought, _friend_. _Maybe we can get through this together. Maybe we can make it out alive_. And he hadn’t stopped to think. He hadn’t stopped to put the pieces together.

He had been stupid and weak and selfish. He’d only get Micah killed in the end, wouldn’t he? Mary was right… Mary was _always_ right.  
Stupid. Stupid and selfish. _Selfish_.

Maybe, _maybe_ , he could do just this one thing, and then maybe he could leave Micah alone… stop dragging him down. 

“I’m gonna—“ Elijah pushed himself up onto his hands with a sudden surge of strength, sweeping broken glass out of his way, grabbing for the shirt he’d gotten out to cover up his injury, “I’m gonna _make this fucking right_ —“

He left the broken mirror and the scattered medical contents where they lay, snatched his coat, re-holstered his gun. He pushed his way back out into the streets and locked the door behind him. Stupid to think he’d get any rest like this. Stupid to think he deserved it.

——————

“So you finally went and lost your mind, eh?”

Elijah ignored the man, punching in a key code at the number pad next to the tracks. Behind him, Travis leaned against the tunnel wall, pulling on a cigarette and generally making an ass of himself.

“You’re not gonna let me in on your little game, huh?”  
“Mary has specifically instructed me that I am not to use her connections while making this attempt. Unless you want to answer to _her_ , I suggest you decide you never saw me here tonight.”

That shut Travis up, at least for a few minutes. Elijah glanced backwards at him out of the corner of his eye, and could tell Travis was turning that over in his head several times.  
“So what exactly _is_ your plan then, kid? Must be pretty bad if the old lady’s abandoned you.”

“There is a Secret Keeper I have been making tentative contact with over the past few months, regarding unrelated transactions. I have something they want, something major, and I intend to trade it for information that I know they have, that would give me the power to infiltrate the pharmacy at the sewer level.”

“The sewer level’s crawling with magicians. You’ve always been shit ‘round magicians.”  
“I do not foresee myself making direct contact with any magicians.” Elijah muttered acidly, stepping back from the number pad and flashing a keycard in front of it. The train that traveled the particular track he was waiting for came by demand only. He’d already transferred a large ren sum into the proper hands to get this ride, and the access to the sector of the city he was heading to.

“Well okay, say you get the fucking secret. Then what? You can’t send a computer in to do a fighter’s job, Brayler.”

“This operation is extremely delicate.” Elijah hissed, his words dripping through his teeth. “One misstep could jeopardize everything I have worked for in surface culture. There are cameras _everywhere_ ; security footage, millions of cellular devices, facial recognition software, the list goes on. If I am seen at any point during this attack, the connections I have built would instantly be at risk. I will be hanging back from the initial action, covering my face, and only stepping in if absolutely necessary. I am trading secrets for the opportunity to infiltrate, a set of favors for a convenient distraction in a nearby sector, and a sum of money for bodies to send to handle the physical confrontation. I do not even need far-reaching consequences to be successful. I need only for the shock value to startle Myra’s forces enough that her grasp will slip, and certain individuals under duress will be freed from her hold.”

A beat passed between them, then Travis snorted. “You’re insane. You know that, right? You’re either gonna get yourself killed in the attack or Tenner’ll kill you when you get back. Come to think of it, maybe I should just kill you right now, so you can’t fuck things up for the rest of us. Tenner might even thank me.”  
Elijah turned and gave Travis a steady look. “You know my answer to that.”

Travis’ eyes darkened. He blew out a long sigh, tinged with smoke. “Thought you’d gotten your shit together. Stopped that nonsense.”  
Elijah shrugged. He could feel tremors running through the tiles beneath his feet. The train was coming. “I have always been my strongest when I have had nothing to lose.”

Travis scoffed, dropped the cigarette and extinguished it under his heel, just as the train started chugging into view. “Suppose I can’t argue with that. D’ya think the old lady would murder you instead if I went ratting to her as soon as you’re on that train?”

Elijah rolled his eyes. “You _do_ realize that if I am successful with this, you could end up with a large profit that you would not have to filter through her?”  
“You shut your damn mouth. Mary Evans doesn’t own me.” Travis sneered, something dangerous flaring in his eyes. “She’s only a fraction of my connections. And if you talk shit again—”

“Please allow me to extend my sincerest apologies.” Elijah grated out, shooting the other man a scorching look. With most other things, Travis might have decided to fire a warning hole straight through his right kneecap for talking back to him like this. But as things stood, Elijah really would be in a position to extend money or clout to Travis’ control if this attack turned out to be successful, and Travis knew it. 

Travis had shut his mouth, sullenly watching as Elijah boarded the train, saying nothing. Just before the doors closed, he lifted his chin and cleared his throat. “Good luck, I guess. If you don’t win, I might take a place in line to kill you when you get back.”  
“Noted.” Elijah snarled in reply, then the sliding panel of metal and glass cut Travis off from view. This particular train was automated. He was alone for the ride.

——————

It was a rather hilarious misnomer, if you thought about it.

Secret Keepers were secret _traders_. Any person, place, or assembly that had secrets to keep had Secret Keepers to fear. Political scandals, embezzlements, gerrymandering. The ins and outs of major clandestine arenas, extending even to religion, charity, and high-rise elite citizenry. Some of the most high-stakes operations in the underground were built on the backs of Secret Keepers’ stolen information. And what was worse, they could _never_ be fully trusted.

The very nature of a Secret Keeper dictated that they be entirely unaligned with any person, place, or assembly. Once their loyalties were discovered, their clout was taken. They suddenly had a tie, a weakness, a downfall. As it stood, they could sell a secret to one group and then the very next week, do business with the opposing side. Sometimes people speculated, wondered, what could the appeal of a life lived as such possibly be? Were they simply out to gather wealth for themselves? Were they merely agents of chaos, delighting in the sense that they were untouchable, above it all, holding power singlehandedly yet never committing far enough to use it? 

It didn’t much matter, he supposed.

Elijah traced his thumb along the edge of the tiny memory drive in his coat pocket. He’d found this secret out almost by accident, years ago, in the midst of his negotiations with a drug operation. The Keeper he was going to meet with had been providing him for a few months with small tidbits of information regarding high-value smuggling operations. In exchange, he had been giving names and particulars of high-profile law enforcers who were cheating the system and selling drugs themselves. Somehow, in their dealings, the Keeper had figured out that he had to be one of the few individuals alive who knew about the scandal with the Manessa family. Wisely, he’d given them no indication whatsoever that they had guessed correctly. 

The Keeper had always presented as a man when speaking to him directly, but there was, of course, no way to know anything about them for certain. Keepers wore elaborate dress that changed with every new transaction. They often wore voice modulators, in the form of masks or tiny microphones, made up their faces in bright pigments, kept their eyes covered. They couldn’t risk a tie of loyalty to their own security, so they protected themselves instead by constantly masking their identity, hiding in plain sight.

Elijah disembarked from the train and walked exactly three blocks, keeping his hands in his pockets, his eyes down. This part of the city was simultaneously wealthy and decrepit. The high-rise buildings loomed overhead, literal bridges built between opulent apartment complexes and lofts, so that none of their affluent residents would ever have to set foot down at the street level, where thieves and drug addicts roamed and jostled for every scrap that fell or wandered into their grasp.

The meeting place was in a small office building that looked entirely out of place, but that _was_ rather the point. There was a little ficus in the corner, in view of the window, and the linoleum floor was smooth and polished. It was completely dark inside as Elijah opened the door and heard the little chime, cringing at the sound, but he didn’t dare reach for a light. The Keeper was probably already watching him. 

He followed the dim hallway to the back of the building, his eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom from long practice. When he opened the door at the end of the hallway, he had to blink at the sudden brightness, keeping his expression neutral as he watched a smile spread across their face.

Another male presentation. Short blonde hair, a covering that looked like a blindfold over his eyes, though Elijah knew it had to be made in some way that enabled sight. The Keeper had painted two sets of long, thin white stripes down his cheekbones that disoriented the eye and made his face look smaller than it was. He was wearing a blazer and vest, decorated with hundreds of tiny metal pins. He glinted in the light when he rose, sliding something across the table to Elijah, silently. With a barely-suppressed sigh, Elijah took the wristband and put it on. The transaction could not proceed without some failsafe, if Elijah were to act antagonistically. The wristband would sever his hand from his arm in less than a second flat if he tried anything.

Once Elijah had fastened the wristband and dropped his hand again, the smile returned to the Keeper’s face. His voice sounded male when he spoke, but deeper than the last time they’d met together. Elijah could just make out a crease near the man’s mouth where a piece of false skin covered the voice modulator.

“Well, I have to admit that this was somewhat of a surprise. Isn’t it usually I who contacts you?”  
“Usually.” Elijah said carefully, coming around the corner of the table. He waited until the Keeper sat back down before taking a seat himself. “I have an urgent request, and I am willing to trade something for it that I know you are highly interested in.”

The Keeper instantly perked up, and Elijah got the impression that his eyes would be glinting in anticipation if he could see them. “Is that so? Tell me then, dear boy, what are you after?”

Elijah ignored the endearment with gritted teeth, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the memory device. He used two fingers to place it decisively just in front of where the Keeper sat, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary, like a chess player’s on their favored piece. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

“On this drive you will find several incriminating details regarding what happened between the Manessa and Cathers families over the eastern trade route. Not _all_ of them, but enough that you should be able to spin a significant profit out of whatever mining you decide to do from there. The drive is locked, however, and will only open once I activate it, from a distance. I will only activate it if I am able to put what information you give to me now, to good use.”  
“You’re avoiding the question, son.”  
“I intend to launch an attack against Myra’s organization. I need an inroad to Everbright Pharmacy.”

His immediate answer was a poorly-disguised laugh. “You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you would trade so much for so little?”  
“I very much expect you to believe that. As I stated, this is urgent, and I am very willing to sacrifice weight for timing.”  
“What happened to make this so urgent?”  
Elijah’s lips tightened before he gave the customary deflection, the words understood to mean he would not give out more leverage than he could avoid, “I am afraid that is a Secret.”

The Keeper chuckled again, and picked up the drive. “You’re not playing this very well, you know. Revealed yourself too quick. I _could_ up the stakes now, and you’d not be able to do much against me. What percentage of the information regarding the scandal would you say is contained on this device?”

“I am uncertain. Perhaps about… seventeen percent. As a rough estimate.”  
“But you _do_ know more?”  
“I am afraid that is a Secret.”

The Keeper sighed. “I would like to haggle, I believe. If you would raise the stakes to twenty percent, I have some very helpful information for you.”

Elijah struggled not to hiss in anger. He didn’t have _time_ to play these games. “No.”  
“Oh, once I get my hands further into this pie you won’t be able to hide those Secrets from me anyways, you might as well give me a head start.”  
“My offer stands as-is. Not only do I not have the time to sit here and bargain with you, neither do I have the time to return to my workspace, update the drive, and make the round trip back here to re-deliver it.”  
The Keeper pursed his lips. “You _could_ simply relay that information to me now. Consider it a down payment.”

Elijah’s temper snapped. His patience was at an all-time low.

He was up out of his seat in the blink of an eye, and he barreled into the man, who let out the strangled yelp of someone who had never once been physically assaulted in their life. The wristband on Elijah’s arm suddenly made a loud crackling sound and loosened, falling to the floor. The Keeper gaped like a fish in shock and terror. Elijah _should_ be down a hand, but…  
“H-how?”

“I’ve disabled every single one of the wristbands you have _ever_ made me wear.” Elijah growled, eyes narrowed to slits. The Keeper was most physically unimpressive, and he made an effort not to squeeze tighter than necessary. “Naturally, as that would have precluded any of our exchanges, I ensured you were never aware. I assume this will mark the end of our proceedings of course. Tell me what I want to know.” His words were low, and deadly, as he pressed his thumb strategically into the man’s jugular, fingers tightening around his neck. “‘In my way’ is _not_ a position in which you want to find yourself.”

“There’s a maintenance tunnel.” The Keeper wheezed, fingers clawing futilely at Elijah’s hands. “Sector 57. The pharmacy brings in their illicit substances from Myra’s forces by rail, and they checkpoint at the tunnel to trade hands.”  
“Code?”  
“P-please— don’t kill me—“  
“I asked you a question and I expect an _answer_. What is the code?”  
“F-four.” The Keeper swallowed hard. He was beginning to go slack, starting to fade slightly. “Seven. Th-three. Two, four, nine.”  
“473249?”  
“Y-yes…”

Elijah released him, even lowering him to the floor somewhat less abruptly than he _could_ have. While the Keeper was still coughing and catching his breath, Elijah crossed the room, snatched the wristband from the floor, and returned to his contact, showing him the underside of the device. A small round disk, no larger than a thumbprint, had been pressed to the surface of the activation mechanism. A tiny, digitalized lockpick of his own design.

“I have always allowed you to believe you had more control over me than you did. But unfortunately for you, you decided to test my patience on the _one_ day that I cannot afford to spare it.”

The Keeper did nothing but breathe heavily, head tilted back, presumably staring at Elijah with terrified eyes. Elijah could rip off that blindfold, expose the man, turn him over to the mercies of anyone he had ever sold Secrets about. Instead, he reached down again, and dropped the small memory drive into the other man’s palm.

“If what you have told me is true, your access to the drive will be granted by the end of the week.”

Elijah stood, and turned, and left, without another word. He was low on patience and unwilling to be trifled with. He was not unfair.

——————

Tenner had it all wrong. Everyone had it all wrong.  
It wasn’t about having the _most_ control.

Everyone was always grasping, reaching, for the most money, the most power, the idea that as long as control was kept over the largest portions of the city and it’s populace, then dictatorship was guaranteed. It didn’t work like that.

The city wasn’t a _puzzle_ , some grand picture where the smaller pieces could be ignored.   
The city was a _circuitboard_.  
And the smallest, frailest connection, the tiniest blip in communication between two electrodes, could bring the entire board to life.

Elijah knew where to make the connections.

It was a small time gang, little more than a ragtag group of misfits trying to scrape out a living at the street level. But they did guard their one tiny swathe of territory very well, and it was such a little piece that they’d been overlooked by nearly everyone. Tenner had overlooked them, the moonbeacon rings had overlooked them. Even Myra had overlooked them, despite the utterly vital role they’d theoretically be able to play. A fatal mistake.

Elijah contacted the illicit-aligned branch of the police force to offer them his deal. He had information on a series of high-profile robberies they could make use of, spin into a story for the masses, and they could have it if they agreed to look the other way from Everbright pharmacy for a period of three hours. They’d taken the offer. At no point had he revealed his face, name, identity in any way. He’d called them from a secure line and had destroyed the phone right afterwards. They would be getting the information he’d promised them in the mail, shipped from a broken-down warehouse on the other side of the district. If they attempted to trace it, they’d find nothing but wind and ash.

Elijah covered his face, tying a firm knot in the bandana behind his head, under the tie that held back his hair. He was going to board the train with the others, but he wasn’t planning to get involved in the fighting unless absolutely necessary. A half dozen of them would be going in, no more. When he’d proposed the plan to the gang’s leader, the man had been highly skeptical.  
“You want us to hold _back??_ ”

Elijah kept his voice monotone, unconcerned. “Yes. The media will already be attempting to craft this into some form of terrorist story. If we storm the complex and kill needlessly, we will have little to fall back on, and the police force may be encouraged to hunt you and your members down. We must _only_ kill direct agents of Myra’s. In order to paint them as martyrs, the media would have to reveal their presence there to begin with, and I can assure you that will not happen. It would raise too many questions that Myra cannot afford to answer.”  
“How can we even tell the difference? You can’t expect—“  
“Any individual who is handling materials coming on or off this train is an agent of Myra’s, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I do not think there will even be very many to contend with.”

That was one thing that gave him comfort. This attack was far enough removed from the merge two years ago that Myra would never even suspect someone to launch an attack against her. If he’d found out about it, if he’d figured it out immediately after meeting Micah and had gone on to do the same thing, she would have been guarded. But she had nothing to fear, now, supposedly. Overconfidence, the greatest weakness of those in power.

Elijah took a breath to continue, “My warning is that none of our group attempt to escape through or raid higher levels of the facility. We will enter the lower levels by train, secure the appropriate amount of evidence, and leave the premises with as little confrontation as possible.”  
“Seems like it wouldn’t do much. Doesn’t seem worth the risk.”  
“It will do more than you know. It will cast Myra’s omnipotence into question, her benevolence even more so. Even if it never reaches civilian circles. The gears will begin to turn in the places it matters.”  
“I hope you know what you’re doing. This could go to hell so fast if you’re wrong about any of this.”

It was true. The fact that the gang had even agreed to assist him against such odds spoke worlds for how much they were struggling and how much they needed the payout he’d promised them. Inwardly, Elijah mentally made an adjustment to their agreement. Maybe if he was strategic, he could give them even more than what they had agreed upon. It wouldn’t be difficult, if this were successful. The fallout would churn up huge amounts of revenue.

Out loud, to the leader, Elijah said, “Everything will go according to plan. It will be alright.”  
He hadn’t quite meant to tack on that last bit.

But he could swear he saw a flicker of reassured relief in the man’s eyes.

——————

It all proved to be disgustingly easy.

One minute they were waiting at the checkpoint, biding their time, waiting for the train to make it’s assigned stop, the next moment they’d been spotted, and when Elijah saw one of their attackers reach for a gun at their hip, he knew they were fair game. He gave the signal that they were to be killed. They were killed.

Elijah entered the code the Keeper had given him into the station’s controls, and they were given clearance. Once they crossed the property line, the video cameras inside the cargo bay would begin transmitting. Under normal circumstances, of course. Certainly not after Elijah pressed a hand to the train’s front control panel, leaving behind a small, circular disk. His device would pump nothing but images of static into the video feed. By the time Myra’s forces found it, the weakened copper alloy he’d built it with would have disintegrated into nothingness.

He kept himself braced upright in the train as they rode, with one hand to the smooth metal surface of the wall, eyes forward. It was get in and get out. No lingering, needless fighting, or information gleaning. They only needed the incriminating evidence. Someday, he could kill more of them. Not today.

It was _after_ they had what they wanted, after they’d made it back to the surface, out of the sewer level, that the man in the back of the train had revealed he’d been watching all along. Doubtless he’d called for reinforcements, and Elijah shouted an order to the others, to finish and run. Get out of there, get away. His face was still covered, and as long as he killed this man and left nothing that could be traced back to him personally, then it was still a success. It didn’t feel like one just yet. Everything felt so distant, so dark, and he wondered why he was so tired… and then, a bullet flew past his face and he clamped a hand around the man’s wrist, twisted, swung a blow of his own.

In this madness, this fervor, he and the man before him, fighting for loss, fighting for power, every beginning and every ending in a single devastating _whole_ , a wound rubbed raw. He jerked his head back and heard the whistle of a knife’s near-miss, felt the side of his fist make contact with bone and muscle. A strangled grunt of pain. And then—

The world disappeared for a moment in a surge of darkness, and Elijah stumbled, confusion cloying his thoughts. Nothing had hit him, had it? He had no reason to lose his feet, struggle to locate the edges of his awareness—

He saw a glint of metal just before he registered the hard gleam of brass knuckles curled in a fist, slowly and instantaneously swinging upwards, towards his covered face. It would shatter his jaw instantly if the blow was landed, and somehow, _somehow_ , Elijah shifted his weight, launched forwards and upwards, grasping at his opponent, hand outstretched, fingers gouging into eye sockets, and then— 

_WHAM_

He saw stars. Just like that, the world erupted into a dazzling display of light, pricking against his eyelids, and he felt a wave of sickness cut through the fog of his mind. He’d pushed back at the man’s head, but it wasn’t enough to stop the swing, as the full force of the blow buried itself in his stomach, piercing him to the core with shock and pain. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, struggling to breathe, staring aimlessly as the barrel of a gun clicked and pointed at his face.

_He rubbed and patted at Micah’s sore belly, trying to comfort his best friend, ease him to a more restful state so that hopefully he could take a much-needed nap. Micah leaned against his side, limp and still flushed, even though the fever had broken, and when he lifted his soft, curly head and blinked at him drowsily, Elijah felt his heart tighten. Even more so when Micah murmured aloud, “El… I’m scared you’re gonna get hurt.”_

_Elijah wanted to croon immediately, gather him up more fully in his arms and hold him closely, tell him that everything would be alright, but he didn’t want to lie. He could only promise to make an effort. So he did._

_“I cannot say for certain what will happen. I have very little control over the outcomes of my assignments. I will do my utmost_ **_not_ ** _to be hurt.”_

_BLAM!!_

Elijah saw the gaping hole open in his opponent’s forehead milliseconds before the man’s weight crashed down onto his body. Elijah clenched his teeth against a guttural shout of pain, the sound escaping so harshly from inside of him that his throat closed around it in protest. He coughed afterwards, and lay stunned in the wake of agony that rolled through his abdomen, panting for a breath, the heavy corpse pinning him to the ground. His fingers were spasmed around the gun in his hand that he’d managed to draw at the last possible second. 

His stomach… Elijah struggled to draw a breath. The air around him suddenly felt hot, stifling. A high-pitched tone began to ring in his ears. The pain was still washing through him, every wave more intense than the last, as if his body hadn’t known what to do with the initial impact, had translated it to shock and numbness before the paralyzing agony had come flooding in. The edges of his vision were turning grainy, _white_. He gasped for another lungful and suddenly felt tears stream down his face. Some small and helpless sound pushed through his teeth; not quite a sob, something far more pitiful. He felt he wasn’t quite holding onto reality. Was he floating?

It was several seconds longer before his sense began to creep back in, and Elijah groaned and shifted, pushed at the body of the dead man, shoving it off to the side and tried to grasp at the pavement beneath himself, only succeeding in scraping his fingers. He _had_ to get up, to _move_ , get out of there. Another spasm bent him double with pain and he whimpered, blubbered out another short cry. Stars above, it _hurt_. But he had to _move_.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of the others finishing the job. The contents of hundreds of bottles of medicine, strewn across public property, would incite the investigation of the decade. They’d have to cover it up. The poison… the lies…

Somehow, Elijah found his feet. He stood, tottering precariously, one arm curled around his middle, the pain pulsing through him with every heartbeat and breath he took. The back of his head tingled. He felt like his legs could give out again at any moment.

He had to get back. The others were already clearing the property, as instructed. He had to send out all the favors he owed, the money, the secrets, the trades. He needed to move. He had to move.

Elijah started to stumble away, still cradling his stomach with one arm, hoping he might not split in two just yet. Something sharp lanced up his spine if he turned a certain way and he breathed a low moan, dragged his feet, forced them along.

He had to get back. He had to tell Micah…  
A shiver ran through him and Elijah clenched his teeth, closed his eyes. He was spiraling down. He was spent.

_Micah…_

Still, if nothing else? He had won _._

_But…  
_ _He wanted…_

_He wanted Micah._

.  
..  
…  
…..  
——————

Micah leapt from the front passenger seat, then leaned back through the window to give Cole a hurried fist-bump.

“Thanks, man. Sorry for freaking out on you.”  
“Just shut up and get in there, ‘kay?” Cole grinned, but there was hint of bleakness in his usually unshakable cheerful expression. “And tell me all the juicy details when you find out what the hell is going on.”

“No promises.” Micah shot back with a wavering smirk before tearing himself away and sprinting for the corner of the block where Elijah’s apartment was. He heard Cole’s car pull off the curb, back towards the main road.

An hour ago, Micah had been with the group, anxiously picking at his lunch, explaining what had gone down at Sasha’s place in a faltering voice. Just minutes after Sasha began retelling it from her point of view, Micah’s phone had rung, and it was Elijah, begging him in a broken voice to please come to the apartment, hanging up even as Micah frantically shouted at him to wait.

Elijah had ignored subsequent calls and Sasha had suggested almost nervously that maybe Micah shouldn’t go, and he’d burst into tears.  
_“He didn’t hurt me.”_ He’d insisted. _“He never would.”_

Cole had offered to drive him without even being asked, and on their way, Micah couldn’t help but stress about the fact that Elijah would _never_ ask him to come to the apartment alone if anything else but the end of the world was at stake. He scolded Micah constantly about the dangers of entering gang territory without his protection.

What had happened after his best friend had stormed out in blinding fury, in just two days?

At least maybe he’d get a hug for all the trouble sooner than he’d expected? Micah bit his lip as he reached the door, fishing for his key. He’d probably have to knock— no, the knob turned under his shaking hands. Elijah hadn’t locked the deadbolts behind himself.

Micah took a deep breath, trying to steel himself, then pushed through the open door and closed it quickly. He turned the only two locks he knew how to fasten, stalling.

It was the sound of labored breathing coming from the direction of the couch that froze him for the briefest of moments before he sprinted around the end of the counter and skidded to a stop in horror.

Elijah lay, shirtless and sprawled across the length of the couch, bloody and bruised, blue eyes strangely dulled. He locked his gaze on Micah and shifted, as though he’d sit up, but then stiffened and stilled in defeat. A breath slipped through his gritted teeth that sounded like it hurt.

The hideously blackened area that stretched from under one side of Elijah’s ribs, down to his opposite hip — it shifted with his movements. So it wasn’t a trick of the light.

His stomach actually _looked_ like that.

His best friend had stitched a shallow wound across his collarbone… probably why he’d taken off his shirt. There were flecks of blood on his face and hands.

“El—!” Micah shook himself and closed the gap between them in a couple of frantic strides, hitting his knees next to the couch and reaching for the horrible bruise, but Elijah’s hand caught his wrist, holding him firmly.  
“Micah.” He rasped, his stare boring into him with unbelievable intensity. “I have to tell you something.”

“You absolute _fuck._ What did— what did you _do_ to your stomach?” Micah gasped, biting back tears and smoothing a gentle hand over the injury. Elijah hissed at his touch and flinched, and Micah felt his breath catch in his throat.  
“Micah, I have to—“  
“I’m gonna get some ice.”

Micah started to scramble to his feet, started to turn towards the fridge, but Elijah’s hold on his hand tightened and he pulled him back towards him with a desperate cry, “Micah, I have to _tell you something!_ ”

“Can it wait for _ten_ **_fucking minutes??_** _”_ Micah screamed back, the stress boiling over; he broke into a sob and tears streamed down his face.

Elijah had let go of him instantly as soon as he’d raised his voice, and now his best friend shook with something that looked like terror, but surely, not because of _Micah?_

“I’m sorry.” Elijah choked out, covering his face, and then he started to cry quietly, fingers clenching in anguish. “I’m s-sorry if I h-hurt you—“

No, not fear of Micah. Fear of himself.

“Please shut up.” Micah sobbed, leaning back down, half-collapsing onto Elijah, winding his arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He smelled like sweat and blood. “I’m really freaked out, but not because you hurt me. You didn’t.”  
“At S-Sasha’s, I d-didn’t—“  
“Yeah that was fucked up. Coulda sworn you lost your mind. You freaked me out then, too. But you didn’t hurt me then either, okay?”

Slowly, Elijah’s shaking hands curled around his shoulders. He hugged him back, trembled in his hold, and breathed quickly, haltingly with pain. Micah brushed a hand over his hair soothingly.

“I’m gonna get some ice because I love your dumb ass and I can’t just stand here and listen to you talk when you look like this, okay? Can you let me do this one _fucking_ thing?”

Elijah took a deep, shuddering breath. He sobbed once, burying his face in the crook of Micah’s neck for a moment or two, before he seemed to force himself to let go and pull back, and Micah rubbed a thumb over his best friend’s cheek, smearing away the dampness.  
“Thanks, fuckwit.”

Micah got a clean dishtowel and a plastic bag, wrapping up a copious amount of ice in the soft covering, then brought it back to the couch and knelt at Elijah’s waist again, inspecting the injury more closely.

It looked _awful_. It was black and purple and green, and Micah could swear he saw the outline of muscles in a sinister red, close to where Elijah had clearly taken the worst of the hit. Broken blood vessels? Did he have any internal bleeding?

The bruise was so _deep_. There were patches of skin on his best friend’s sides that were still-purpling; it went all the way _through_ his torso. Gingerly, Micah tried to get Elijah to roll over a bit, and he did, with clear difficulty and pain, but Micah almost regretted looking. There were darkened places around his _spine_.

“Goddesses, you’re so fucked up, El.” Micah’s voice broke again as he eased Elijah back down and pressed the ice pack gently to his stomach. Elijah jolted with a low moan and squirmed, but Micah didn’t let it scare him, though he swallowed hard. After a few minutes, the cold seemed to numb the pain and Elijah gradually grew less tense. He started breathing a little easier.

“This is the worst.” Micah griped, trying to lighten the mood as he adjusted the pack, reaching up to comb his fingers through Elijah’s hair again. “I don’t know how to help your poor, fucked up tummy when I can’t _rub_ it.”  
“Micah.” Elijah breathed, tears gathering in his eyes again. He blinked and they dripped down his beard, and he shivered. “I have to tell you something.”  
“Okay.” Micah braced himself. “Tell me something.”

Elijah’s hands clenched into fists by his sides, his gaze drifting in and out of focus. “Myra killed your mother.”  
Micah blinked. “Uh… what?”  
“Myra killed your mother. She murdered Megan.”

Something terribly sharp twisted in Micah’s chest at his mom’s name, but he shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, Elijah.”

Elijah took a deep breath. “Stephanie. She worked in management for Everbright pharmacy when she began dating Megan. That year, Myra made moves to partner her organization with the pharmacy, as a method to promote her false philosophies of healing. Some individuals opposed the merge at first, finding the association of a religion to be in poor taste, but the pharmacy abruptly shut down for several weeks, and when it reopened, the merge had been approved.” Elijah unclenched a hand and then his fingers slid around Micah’s, shaking before squeezing softly. “I think Stephanie was one of those who opposed the merge. Myra wouldn’t have been able to lay a hand on her directly… I think she poisoned Megan in order to force Stephanie to comply with her. I think Stephanie disappeared to protect you from Myra.”

Micah felt like he was in class, zoning in and out while the professor monologued up front, none of the words connecting in his brain as he heard them. “El, you might as well be telling me that Heida herself did all that. I mean, I believe you when you say Myra’s bad news, but like… she’s…”

“A Goddess.” Elijah coughed derisively, wincing just afterwards. “Doesn’t seem like a real person.”  
“No, not… really.” Micah searched for words, but then looked up, startled, as Elijah rolled over on the couch, and his best friend’s warm, trembling hands cupped his chin. Elijah’s face was contorted with pain and anger.

“I cannot be certain, but I think Stephanie will attempt to get in touch with you soon. I enlisted help from my connections at the street level to expose Myra’s involvement in Everbright pharmacy. Myra will likely lose her hold there, but there is no reason for her to suspect Stephanie of being connected at all. I think Stephanie will feel safe in reaching out to you now.”

Micah broke into a sob, trying to shake his head again at the thought of seeing Stephanie again after so long… after _so long_ of believing she’d just abandoned him. He wanted to believe Elijah instead, but it was all a fog in his head; it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

But Elijah’s hands held him gently and firmly and his thumbs brushed away the tear tracks on his cheeks, repetitively, comfortingly.  
“It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”  
“I know, Micah. I’m so sorry.”  
“How’d you do it? You wanna tell me how a bunch of gang screwups managed to fight a Goddess?”

“She’s _not_ a Goddess, Micah!” Elijah growled suddenly, fury flashing in his eyes briefly but then he winced and his breath caught for a moment. “She is a money-hungry demagogue in league with corrupt forces from the mainland, she murders to silence her opposition, and she wields power in Leidoa and its surrounding territories through fearmongering and sheer malice. She is a homicidal maniac but she is _not_ above—!”

Elijah’s rant stuttered to a halt suddenly as he coughed and moaned, then he started crying with renewed anguish, pulling Micah further into his arms and embracing him so tightly Micah gasped for breath.

“I hate her.” Elijah sobbed, one of his hands raising to obsessively stroke Micah’s curls, over and over as if he were afraid he might suddenly disappear. “I hate her. I _hate_ her. I’m so sorry. I thought I couldn’t hate her any more! That she— she dared to lay a _hand_ on—! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Micah. I’m so—“

Micah tried to pull away, wondering desperately how to comfort Elijah, as his best friend shuddered and cried, pain echoing on every shaky exhale. But Elijah was far too strong, and Micah wondered if he even realized he was struggling against him. “El, please! You’re _hurting_ yourself. You gotta calm down!”

“I’ll _kill_ her for what she did to Megan!” Elijah gasped out the wretched promise, his grip loosening enough for Micah to squirm out of his arms, but his hands hung empty in the open air, silently begging for Micah to come back. “I’ll kill her! I’ll burn her _alive!_ ”

“You _have_ to calm down, Elijah.” Micah could have sworn his heart crumpled as he pushed aside Elijah’s hands, laying a palm over his best friend’s forehead instead. “You’re hurt really bad, okay? You gotta breathe. Can you call Mary?”

That finally seemed to get Elijah’s attention, as he panted for a breath, his arms sinking to the couch, dangling towards the floor. He trembled and swallowed hard. “I am out of contact with Mary for now. The attack on the pharmacy was a big risk. It was best for her not to potentially jeopardize her connections by proxy, in the event that this strike were to fail. Since it was successful, I will be back in touch with her in a number of weeks.”

“But…” Micah dragged a hand through his hair in agitation, eyes wide. “Your stomach is fucking _pulp_.“  
“It will heal. If there were any major complications such as internal bleeding or organ perforation, I am inclined to believe I would know by now.”  
“Have you— _shit_ , how long have you been lying here?”   
“About half a day. Since early this morning. I was unconscious for part of it, though. I called you as soon as I was reasonably certain I would be able to stay awake.”

Micah slowly sank down next to the couch again, curling his legs underneath him and pressing his forehead to Elijah’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“You know what I hate? I hate seeing you hurt. I wish you hadn’t done this… whatever you did. It might not even be worth it. Even if Stephanie was wrapped up in all that, she _still_ might not want anything to do with me.”  
“I think you will change your mind. I think she will prove me right.”  
“How can you be so fucking sure?”

Micah felt his best friend’s shoulder shift as Elijah took a deep breath. “Because only someone who loves you more than they care for their own wellbeing would disappear entirely rather than try to reach out for help. Stephanie would have had to know that Myra could go after you next at the slightest provocation. Once Myra got what she wanted, Stephanie’s life might have been in danger as well. If she’d attempted to communicate with the authorities, she might have been able to further secure her own safety, but in doing so would have known that your fate would have been sealed.”

“Is that why you were trying to get rid of me after that Tenner guy beat you half to death?” Micah muttered, almost bitterly. “Tryna run away on me too?”  
“Micah.” Elijah’s voice broke. “I love you so much.”

Micah lifted his head and scrubbed at his tears, but Elijah didn’t stop. “I love you more than anything. More than I hate Myra. More than I love whatever remains of my parents. I would do _anything_ to keep you safe. I would run away from you in a _heartbeat_ if it meant keeping you safe. I buried my sister because I clung too tightly to her in the face of Myra’s malevolence. I am _not_ going to bury you, too.”

Micah sat still, jaw agape. There were so many things he had to say, so many protests he had to make —  but somewhere in the rush of emotion that overwhelmed him, his brain latched onto a single, confusing thought. Maybe if he’d been thinking more clearly, maybe if he wasn’t scrambling to shove away the thought that Elijah would ever leave him behind, he’d have had the mental facilities to realize that this was _not_ something to bring up, not now.

But once the words were on his lips, he couldn’t stop them.

“Wait, I— what— what do you mean? I thought you started— How could Myra have targeted Brielle if you weren’t fighting her yet?”

Elijah’s eyes became unnervingly dark. “It was my fault.”

Silence. Micah swallowed hard, opening his mouth, trying to take the words back, say they didn’t have to talk about this now, but Elijah was already pushing ahead, his voice strangely halting and empty.

“There was a boy. In my gang; he was younger than me. Died. Knife to the throat. Too young to be on the streets… I took his body home — no one else would. Laid him across his parents’ doorstep. Waited. They looked out and looked… hollow. Like it didn’t even matter. Like they didn’t even know him.”

Micah wanted to reach out, to hug Elijah, but he was frozen, and the air between them felt thick with cold.

“I looked into it. They were— followers of Myra’s church. Just like… mom and dad. Acted just like them. Realized it wasn’t zealousness. Realized there was something else going on. Followed clues until I found out the truth. And— I was so angry. I couldn’t— didn’t stop to think. I just wanted… wanted to get them back. Give them back to Brielle. It was the only thing I couldn’t do. I could get food for her, and clothes, and even things she liked, once in a while. Saved up a bunch of money to pay for her big field trip, once. She had a lot of fun. But couldn’t— couldn’t get them back. She needed her parents. Not her stupid brother. Always fucking things up. Always making her worry.”

Micah willed himself to do something, _anything_. He shifted on the floor and raised up onto his knees, but even as he grasped his best friend’s arm again, Elijah shook him off.

“Wanted them back. Wanted them to come home. I was so angry. I couldn’t— couldn’t see. Didn’t think. I started a fire at the church. The one mom and dad always went to. Maybe if— maybe if it burned to the ground they would come home. Maybe they wouldn’t go to church anymore. Maybe they would come home. Didn’t work. Caused an uproar, but it didn’t work. Brielle went to school the next day, and never came home. She always took her meds at lunch. For the anemia. She never came home.”

“El—“

“It was MY FAULT!!” Elijah screamed suddenly, thrashing backwards out of Micah’s hold, hands flying out, grasping at nothing, screaming, _screaming_ — “It was _my fault!!_ **_I did this!!_** If it weren’t for me, Brielle would _still be ALIVE!!_ **_I_** got her killed!!”

“Elijah, no!! It’s not— it’s not your fault—!”

“It should have been me!! It should have been me!! I shouldn’t be here!! **_I should be dead!!_** IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME, NOT MY _SISTER!!_ I DID THIS!! IF IT _WEREN’T FOR ME, BRI WOULD_ ** _STILL BE ALIVE!!”_**

Elijah’s rage and grief was terrible, all-consuming, it burned through his body like the fire he claimed he’d set, and Micah cried, tried to — uselessly — hold his best friend’s shoulders down, tried to get him to be still, stop _hurting_ himself, but Elijah was completely unhinged, shouting, clawing at nothing, eyes sightless, teeth gnashing around every scream.

Micah sobbed and ducked under one of Elijah’s flailing elbows, pressed his hands as gently as he could to his sides, then leaned down and kissed the center of the horrific bruise on his stomach, where the blood welled black beneath his skin.

It was like flipping a switch. Micah was still crying as Elijah coughed once, instantly going still, instantly ceasing his maddened raving.

“Micah—“ Elijah’s whimper was strangled, bewildered. “Wh-what was that?”

Micah flashed a tearful, shaky grin. “Shock value. Or, y’know—” He tried to think around the pounding of his heart, the still-draining adrenaline of panic, of wondering desperately how to bring Elijah down from his frenzied, mindless anguish. “They say you can always kiss things better, right?”

Elijah shuddered once, taking a few quick, shallow breaths, clearly attempting to calm down. Little sounds slipped out each time he gasped for air and he began to shiver forlornly, sinking back slowly against the cushions again, tense muscles relaxing and going limp.  
“Micah…” Elijah’s eyelids fluttered. “I love you, so m-much, but— but sometimes, th-there are some days, I— I still wish I wasn’t h-here.”

Empathy raked over Micah’s heart like vicious claws, and remembering in an instant how Elijah had clung to him earlier, he sank to his knees beside the couch and slid an arm under his best friend’s shoulders. He pulled Elijah’s head to the crook of his neck and nestled down, cheek over his forehead, and held him tightly, and kissed his temple.  
“Someday you’re gonna be glad you stayed.” Micah whispered quietly, lifting a hand. “I’m gonna be here til you are, okay?”

He pushed his fingers into the soft strands of Elijah’s hair above his ear and began to stroke, slowly and soothingly, tracing a thumb over his brow, combing his hand along his temple and over the back of his head, over and over. Elijah said something, too muffled for Micah to understand, then strong hands wound behind his back as Elijah held tightly to him and began to cry again, silent sobs shaking through his chest.  
“It’s okay, El. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Something in Micah changed, in a moment, when Elijah burrowed further into his hold and continue to weep helplessly into his shoulder. It felt strange, like a light suddenly coming on somewhere inside, but it was so clarifying and _necessary_ , he wondered how he’d been stumbling around without it for so long. Elijah _needed_ him. He’d needed him for a long time, and Micah had spent so long thinking of his best friend as this powerful, incredible person that he’d never really questioned how much damage must lurk beneath the surface for Elijah to constantly be pushing him away when he needed care. If Micah acted upset, Elijah would shut him out again, trying to protect him at his own expense. If they were going to make any progress, Micah had to be like _this_ , when it counted, calm and comforting and no-nonsense. 

Micah had no idea how long it was, that he held onto Elijah for dear life, petting his hair, whispering reassuring words in his ear, kissing his head again every so often. He began to brush fingertips gently along his best friend’s shoulder, remembering after a couple of times to lift his hand over the stitches so he wouldn’t tug on them accidentally. Elijah grew calmer and calmer, and more still, until he was almost half-dozing against Micah’s chest, breathing slowly and deeply. The only reason Micah knew he was still awake was that his grip hadn’t loosened in the slightest. 

“El.” Micah said when he began to worry that he was going to fall asleep himself. “Did you eat at all in the past two days?”  
Elijah shifted, took a slightly deeper breath. “A couple of granola bars and some tea, the first night.”  
“Geez. Not anything since?”  
Elijah shook his head slightly.

Micah sighed and started to get up, trying to gently disentangle himself. “I’m gonna warm you up some soup, okay?”  
“Mm not hungry.” Elijah was slow to let him go. “My stomach hurts…”  
“I know it does. I’m sorry…” Micah said tiredly, lovingly prying his best friend’s fingers off his elbow. “But you have to have something to eat, Elijah. Especially if you can’t get help and just have to let this heal on it’s own.”

Elijah finally let his hands slide away, and Micah headed towards the cabinets. “What kinda soup do you want? Chicken noodle? Tomato?” He looked back over his shoulder when Elijah didn’t answer him, to find his best friend’s gaze fixed, unseeing, on a faraway point, and he felt his heart constrict again. He could get something warm into him and then let him sleep… Elijah would be okay.

Micah heated up a bowl of tomato soup in the microwave, and then just for the hell of it, managed to fiddle with the tiny toaster oven enough to make a couple of slices of cheese toast. Miracle of all miracles, he didn’t set anything on fire. He searched the medicine cabinet until he found a bottle of pain relievers, glad to find that they were in-date, and carried everything back over to the couch along with a glass of milk. Surely with a full tummy and something to numb the soreness, Elijah would feel better and could rest easier?

When Micah neared the couch though, his best friend flinched upon seeing the bottle of pills. “I don’t want those.”  
“What?” Micah stared at him blankly. “You’ve been wheezing in pain the entire fucking time I’ve been here.”  
Elijah’s gaze flitted away, and he suddenly looked agitated, fretful. “I don’t deserve them.”  
Micah blinked, horror slowly trickling through him. “What are you _talking_ about?”  
“Don’t deserve them. Deserve to feel pain. My fault. It was _my fault_.”

Micah set the little tray down on the floor and knelt as he went, reaching for Elijah’s arm and squeezing him tightly. “Stop it. Don’t get on that again, _by the Goddesses_ , Elijah. I don’t even know where to start with you but you don’t _deserve_ to be in pain! That’s fucking nonsense, okay?” Micah suddenly stopped, mid-thought, the blood draining from his face. “Holy… _shit_ , is that why?? Is that why all your medicine was still full by the time everything fucking _expired?_ You never took anything because you thought you _deserved to be in pain?_ ”

Elijah’s answering silence spoke volumes, and Micah took a very, very deep breath. He was tempted to either burst into tears or fly into a passionate rant about how that didn’t make any sense and could Elijah please just stop _punishing_ himself for fuck’s sake, but he knew it wouldn’t help. Elijah was overwrought and hurt and sleep deprived and hungry. Before they got into this, he needed warm food and sleep.

“You’re gonna eat this damn soup,” Micah began, running his hand through his best friend’s long hair again, “And maybe some of this toast if it won’t hurt your tummy too badly, and then you’re gonna take some fucking pills. And don’t try to tell me you don’t deserve them because I don’t think that and I’m not giving you a choice. Okay?”

Elijah’s eyes closed as he turned his cheek further into the couch, giving into Micah’s affectionate touch, the sternness in his voice. “Mhm.”  
“Sit up, you dumbass.”

Elijah moved slowly, bracing his hands underneath himself. He started to lever himself up, but then the muscles of his stomach tightened and he hissed, low and agonized. Micah quickly slipped an arm around his shoulders, hoping to help, though he knew if Elijah’s strength gave out they’d just both go down.  
“Easy, El. You gotta be careful.”  
“Hurts…”

“Fuck, I know.” Micah gave his best friend the softest squeeze he possibly could, feeling a discordant glimmer of hope that Elijah was complaining aloud. “I know it does, I’m sorry. You look like you got hit with a cinderblock or some shit, right in the stomach. How _did_ this happen, anyways?”

“Brass knuckles.” Elijah gasped out as he managed to slowly and gingerly prop himself into a sitting position, Micah’s hands against his shoulders the whole way. “My opponent landed a blow with brass knuckles.”

“You poor bastard.” Micah sat next to Elijah on the couch once he was certain he wasn’t going to tip over again, leaning over to get the tray of food and medicine to set on his best friend’s lap. When Elijah took hold of it, Micah turned, slipping his arms around him in a hug and laying his hands very, very carefully against his beaten, bruised stomach. Elijah took a careful breath and relaxed into the touch, and Micah knew it was comforting him.

“Maybe you should eat a little first before taking the pills so they don’t hit you on an empty tummy and make you feel sick.” Micah mumbled, pressing his cheek to Elijah’s warm shoulder and closing his eyes. It did really awful things to his heart to see Elijah so _hurt_.  
“Mhm.”

Elijah started eating meekly, clearly only to please Micah at first. Thankfully, once he’d gotten a few bites down and begun sipping at his milk, his interest in the food seemed to grow, and his movements became less practiced, less methodical, more hungry.

Micah knew pressing or rubbing on his best friend’s tummy would only hurt him more, but he tried to gently run his fingertips over his front, brushing at the injury lightly in a way he hoped was comforting.  
“Okay, El. Take the pills before you run out of milk.”

He half expected Elijah to argue with him again, but no, Elijah picked up the medicine without protest and swallowed it down. He finished his food and took a deep breath, and when Micah moved to take the tray from him, he spoke.

“Micah?”  
“Yeah? What’s up?” Micah set the tray aside and then felt Elijah reach for him, arms circling him and pulling him into a warm embrace.  
“I’m s-sorry for… behaving so badly. And for— for what happened at Sasha’s…”

Micah burrowed his head further into Elijah’s chest and felt his best friend hold him tighter. “I’m not mad at you for what happened at Sasha’s, El. I told you, you didn’t hurt me. Might’ve spooked Sasha a little, but you can tell her you’re sorry later and she’ll be really relieved and give you a big hug too, okay? And as for uh… ‘behaving badly—‘“ Micah stifled a bark of laughter. “Dude, how many times have I had screaming meltdowns on _you?_ ”

“Um…” Elijah coughed, then winced at the movement. “S-several times.”  
“Yeah, that sounds about right. This is— what, the second time? You’ve lost it on me? You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m just glad I was here.”  
Elijah shivered. “Thank you, Micah.”  
“S’okay, man. Thanks for… trying to rescue Stephanie or whatever for me.”

Elijah sighed and his head sunk down over Micah’s curls, and Micah let him rest for a moment before poking him gently.  
“Let’s get you laying back down so you can get some sleep, okay?”  
“Mhm.”

Slowly, with Micah’s support, Elijah eased himself back down to the pillows, and Micah slid off the couch with the tray to put it in the sink. He went to the bedroom and came back to Elijah, dragging a big, fluffy sweatshirt and a few blankets and quilts. The shirt was loose enough, even on Elijah (geez, what kind of creature was it made for? A Halar?) that it wouldn’t pull on the stitches on his shoulder if he moved around, and the blankets would both keep him warm and help him feel better. Elijah always sought out softness and warmth at home, where he felt comfortable.

Micah helped Elijah very carefully tug the sweatshirt over his head and wrapped the blankets around him, tucking him in as comfortably as possible. Elijah fought drowsiness, holding Micah’s hand, peering at him blearily.  
“It’s… not safe— to leave here by yourself…”

“Cole gave me a ride here, don’t worry.” Micah leaned down to kiss Elijah’s cheek. “I wasn’t in any danger coming over here. But I’m not leaving, El. I’m gonna be right here when you wake up.”

Elijah’s breath halted, his lips parted, as though he were about to say something, but in the next moment his jaw clamped and he coughed a little, nodding slightly.

Micah gently brushed Elijah’s loose grip off his hand when he was certain his best friend was asleep, then took a deep breath and stared at the wall tiredly. He wanted to think back over everything that had happened but his mind felt blank, empty. Maybe he could just… curl up on the couch with Elijah and get some sleep too.

His tummy rumbled faintly and he smirked, heading over to the sink to wash Elijah’s dishes and get some down for himself too. He heated up his own bowl of soup and nibbled on one of the remaining slices of toast, gulping at a glass of milk. He rinsed his empty dishes and put them away, then climbed onto the couch, over Elijah’s legs so he could cuddle into the warm space between his best friend and the pillows. Elijah didn’t even stir.

Micah felt so numb and exhausted that he expected to drop right off, but his eyes wouldn’t stay closed and the feeling of nervousness in his chest wouldn’t let up. Squirming, he dug a little in the pillows until he found the remote, flicking on the TV and turning the volume way down so that it wouldn’t wake Elijah. His best friend slept soundly next to him though, clearly worn beyond all measure. Had he slept _any_ the past two days? Micah bit his lip.

He flipped through the channels a bit, not that there was much to pick from. Elijah of course couldn’t install regular cable, so every channel was meticulously programmed and usually only at Micah’s request. There were fourteen channels on a good day of reception, sixteen on a great day. It seemed to be more staticky than normal; Micah could only get seven channels to come through.

He went through them each a third time, then just as the commercial break on one channel ended, he changed it before his eyes snapped wide and he hurriedly flipped back. It was a news station, and the headline read, “ _Terrorist Attack Everbright Pharmacy._ ”

Micah’s jaw hung loose as he listened to the reporter describe the huge shipment of pharmaceutical substances that had been ransacked and strewn across public property, now under investigation by police. The oddest thing about it all, the woman added, was that not a a single individual working inside or in association with the pharmacy seemed to have been harmed or threatened; none reported interacting with any hostile intruders. It was this, came the suggestion, that led authorities to believe it may have been an inside job, and connections with the beloved figurehead Mistress Myra had come under scrutiny. Only time would tell what could have possibly been the motivation behind the attack.

Micah’s heart began to thud again, as though he’d been running, and his gaze traveled to Elijah’s face. His best friend was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. There was a hollowness in his expression, even in sleep.

Hadn’t Elijah told him before that the depths of the underground world functioned almost exclusively on “favors?” Money was too easy; it was too simply gotten, too quickly gone. Favors and power over those who failed to pay them back… that was where the real crux of illicit society lay. That’s what Elijah had always meant by his “networking,” stacking “favors” in an ever-growing pile, and once in a blue moon, finding someone who could be trusted not to misuse the power of an owed favor.

“How… how many favors did you spend, El?” Micah whispered, swallowing hard. “Doing this… for me?”

Elijah didn’t answer him, his breaths soft and deep and silent. Micah scrubbed a hand over his cheek and found it damp, then dragged his sleeve more fully over his eyes. Elijah might have brought half the city to its knees… for _Micah_. It was… there weren’t words for it. He’d risked so much that Mary hadn’t even been able to stand with him. And he’d done it on a _guess_. He’d kept saying, “I think, I think…” when he was trying to explain. So he hadn’t _known_ , but he’d done this anyways. Micah wondered if maybe it was because he just hated Myra _that much_ , but he knew that wasn’t it. He loved _Micah_ that much.

Micah left the TV on and reached over, combing his hand through Elijah’s hair again, confident by now that his best friend wouldn’t wake. He needed to thank him better when he woke up… even if it didn’t amount to anything, Elijah needed to know how much it meant to Micah that he would nearly destroy everything he’d ever worked for, just to—

Micah startled suddenly when his phone rang, and he snatched at his pocket, hoping to silence it before it bothered Elijah. He snapped off the volume and squinted at the screen; it wasn’t a number he recognized.

He hesitated, but it wasn’t as if he’d be able to sleep _now_ anyways, so he tapped the button to accept the call and held it to his ear. “Hello?” He kept his voice down.

“Micah?”  
The voice was hesitant, longing, fearful. Familiar.

Micah felt his heart stop and his veins turn to ice.  
“ _Stephanie?”_

——————

It wasn’t that Travis wasn’t expecting the call. He was. He just hadn’t been expecting it quite so _soon_.

When his device lit up and the ringtone blared through the dark room — he still hadn’t gotten used to the damn thing; he’d gotten by just fine all his long years in illicit circles _without_ a cell, but no, just because Mary Evans had a protege who could build phones that couldn’t be traced through normal means, that meant Travis had to have one too. Figures that it was the bitch herself calling.

He accepted the call and cleared his throat irritably, making _sure_ she could hear it, before snapping out a “What?” as he raised the receiver to his ear.

“Did you help him?”

Travis grunted. “No the fuck I didn’t. In fact _he_ was the one to tell me not to help him. Someday you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that Brayler isn’t a kid anymore, you know.”

Mary was silent for a long moment, and Travis bitterly reflected on their long-soured friendship; how quickly she’d turned ruthless, conniving, how easily she’d trampled him underfoot. It was almost a pleasure to see her own protege break from her hold so drastically and blow it all out of the water while doing it. 

“I don’t know how he did it.” Her reply was quiet, disbelieving. Travis snorted.  
“He made use of all his resources, risked his life, and chased down his goals with the single-mindedness you’ve _always_ groomed him to have. What’s so surprising ‘bout that?”  
“He could have jeopardized everything he’s worked for. He’s passionate, not _stupid_. And yet—”

“Something tells me there must be uhh… wildcard, somewhere in the mix here.” Travis drawled, finding it hard not to feel smug at the sharpness in her tone. “Something you didn’t expect. Shit, I tried to tell you Mary, you just can’t predict the kind of moves a Careworn would make. They _have_ nothing tying their asses down. They do what they want.”

Silence, again. Travis waited, then decided with a roll of his eyes to fill the uncomfortable pause, “I know it was attractive and all; hell I might’ve done the same thing, but the Careworns aren’t some untapped resource. They’re little sticks of dynamite. They’ll blow up if you _drop_ ‘em the wrong way, and most of them are dead anyhow. What’s Brayler now, uh, one out of five? Four?”  
“Three.” Mary snapped finally. “Three Careworn Children still live.”

“That one back from ’89 still off the map, I’m guessing.” Travis sighed. “It know it would have been all symbolic and shit. But he’s not a ‘child’ anymore. You’re not going to be able to lead him by the hand much longer. If he wants to kill Myra, he’s gonna go after her, sure, but it’ll be on his own terms. You mark my words.”

He could hear Mary take a deep breath. She clearly wasn’t taking this very well, the idea that the kid could wrest his way out of her grasp and pull off some catastrophic success without a single word of her input. “Maybe you’re right, Travis. I’ll have to reconsider some things.”

“I’m guessing you’re punishing him?” Travis ventured, scratching at his facial hair and yawning. It was getting late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it.  
Mary scoffed. “I’m only doing what’s best for him. He needs to understand the consequences of his actions.”

Travis squinted derisively, but didn’t say anything. Mary was still holding onto the delusion of being a strict but loving mother figure to the boy, then. It was one of a few things he genuinely pitied Brayler for. Shit life, shit mentor. Travis found himself wondering what was so important that the kid had gone off the rails and risked the woman’s ire for. 

It was Mary who filled the empty line between them the second time. “Thank you for your honesty, Travis. I expect we’ll be speaking again soon.”  
“Yep. S’pect so. You gonna be trying for damage control?”  
“What damage?” Mary said tiredly, seemingly before she thought better of it. “No, I offered him no help and therefore was not connected. He’ll have to deal with the fallout as he sees fit.”

“How’d he fare, by the way? He still kickin’?”  
“As far as I know. He did send out a few favors to the network in the past few hours, so he’s at least still well enough to deliver on whatever promises he made during all this.”  
“Bodes well for him. Not so much for you, I guess.”  
“Mm. Goodnight, Travis.”  
Travis glanced at the clock. “More like g’morning.”

The phone line went dead, and Travis crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and sighed deeply.

Lots of things were changing.


	22. Where We Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah and Elijah arrange a rendezvous with Stephanie; a caretaker from Micah's past that he hadn't expected to see again. Through their conversation, Micah is reassured of love he thought he'd lost, and is presented with some difficult questions he can't answer right away.
> 
> Also, he stress-binged the night before and his tummy isn't doing too well. Elijah takes care of him and provides the support he needs to face the visit head-on.

Micah bit back a whimper, shifting uncomfortably where he was sitting on the low corner sofa, hugging his arms more tightly over his aching tummy and biting his lip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elijah take a step in his direction before Sasha caught him and gently held him still before she continued adjusting the scarf around his neck with care.

“Drink some more of that pink stuff, babe.” Sasha urged quietly without taking her hands away from Elijah’s coat and scarf. “Unless you think you need to put this off for a day?”

“No way.” Micah growled, unscrewing the cap from the bottle of medicine and pouring himself another dose. He knocked it back with a shudder and looked away from Elijah’s worried glance.

Sasha’s eyes were grim. “Elijah, please tell me that I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

When Elijah had asked her to help him adjust his scarf so the bruises weren’t visible, he hadn’t told her what they were from. He hadn’t told Micah yet, either. They’d blossomed, angry and dark, around his neck and collarbone in the day or two after Micah had found him a battered mess on the couch.

“What do you think you are seeing?” Elijah asked evasively, and both Sasha and Micah gave him a sharp look.

“I swear these look like… _finger_ impressions.” Sasha whispered hoarsely, brushing a thumb over Elijah’s jugular. He drew back slightly, but she didn’t let him go. “It looks like someone… _choked_ you, within an inch of your life.”

“That’s what _I_ said.” Micah muttered, shoving his feet in his shoes so he could get up. A sharp cramp and an angry gurgle forced him back to the couch with a groan. 

Elijah didn’t answer at first, waiting until Sasha had stepped back, eyeing her handiwork. He sighed and gathered up his long hair to tie it back. “Thank you, Sasha. I would hope that it does not come as a surprise, to either of you, that I do encounter intense violence in illicit circles.”

“Damn it, stop that.” Sasha spread her arms helplessly with a slight flutter of her wings as she gave Elijah a mournful look. He flinched and glanced down in apology. “Did someone choke you or not, Elijah?”

“Yes.” He mumbled, then cleared his throat. “Do you think the scarf hides the bruises well enough to not attract attention?”

“At a glance, no one’s going to see them.” Sasha murmured, letting her hands fall down by her sides again. “But honestly it’s getting warm enough outside that you might get odd looks for the _scarf_.”

“I suppose I will have to hope that others will assume I am cold-natured.” Elijah said tiredly, turning away and moving towards Micah. His eyes softened as he knelt down and put an arm around him, and Micah moaned, one hand still braced over his tummy.

“Maybe we _should_ wait another day…” Elijah ventured tentatively, and Micah made a face at him.

“ _No_. I’m just gonna be _more_ fucking stressed tomorrow if we do.”

“Well, we _did_ empty the house of snacks this time.” Sasha pointed out with a smirk, watching Elijah gently peel Micah’s hold off his middle and place his own hand there instead, beginning to massage warm, comforting circles against the ache.

Micah took a deep breath and turned to bury himself in Elijah’s hug, closing his eyes, silently grateful beyond measure that his midnight-to-three-am snack binge had been met with nothing but concern and care and the occasional gentle wry remark. The other two had taken away the junk food and rubbed his back when he threw up and tucked him in for what few hours of sleep he could get, while Elijah rubbed his tummy and Sasha fetched a hot water bottle.

He and Elijah had decided to spend the night with Sasha, since the bus route to the nearest social services center was a much shorter ride from her place, and she’d been nothing but supportive and understanding when they’d explained what had happened.

Stephanie hadn’t abandoned him. And now that it was safe, she wanted to see him again.

She had been the one to suggest meeting up at the social services building. It would be their safest bet; a public place with plenty of eyes around, and a location that would not be unreasonable for her to be visiting, whether or not she had contacted Micah.

There had been quite a bit of fallout in just the week since Elijah’s move against Everbright Pharmacy. Stephanie had evidently been keeping a low profile, but many others had come forward with incriminating testimonials and eye-witness accounts. For the first time Micah could remember, Myra’s benevolent name had been cast into shadow, and the repercussions were popping up all over the city.

Micah took a deep breath, knowing the longer they waited, the harder this was going to be, so he braced an arm against his tummy and fought his way to his feet, with Elijah’s help. But then his best friend grimaced and lifted a hand to his own stomach, and Sasha shot them both a sharp glance.

“Maybe I should come too. Since neither of you can stand up straight.”

“It would be best not to risk it.” Elijah insisted, smoothing his posture and expression as he patted Micah’s back encouragingly. 

“Remind me what happened to _you_ , again, big guy?”

“Some jackass punched him with brass knuckles in a fight.” Micah cut in heatedly. “I swear his stomach is fucking liquified. If you think the bruises on his _neck_ are bad—”

“I think I got the idea.” Sasha remarked, sighing deeply. She gave them a long look. “I know this is supposed to be safe and all, but please be careful, okay? You boys worry me sometimes.”

Micah felt his heart melt and he swallowed hard against the painful rumbling in his tummy so he could reach out and gather her in a tight hug. He kissed her nose and gave her a friendly scratch between the wings, encouraged by the soft chuckle he got in return. 

“We’ll be careful. And we’ll let you know as soon as we’re heading back.” Micah whispered in her ear.

Micah looked up as Elijah placed a gentle hand on Sasha’s shoulder, his eyes brimming with warmth and gratitude. “Thank you, Sasha. We will call you as soon as we can.”

She walked them to the bus stop and waved at them through the window as they pulled away. Once they were on the main road, Micah hunched lower in his seat with another pained whimper, clutching both hands to his tummy, leaning into Elijah’s embrace. His best friend pried his hands away again and started to rub, massaging out the cramps and soothing the sickly grumbles that hadn’t let up all morning. Micah swallowed hard at the thought of all the candy and potato chips he’d stuffed down in the middle of the night. 

“Can you let me know what the plan is again, El?” Micah asked after a few minutes, squirming further into the arms that held him tightly. Elijah murmured something comforting and rested his chin on Micah’s head.

“When we approach the center, I will get off the bus roughly a block before you do, and will come into the building from a different entrance. You will need to get to the fourth floor lobby area, and once I arrive there as well, and see you, I will message Stephanie from my cell, since it is encrypted, and she will meet us there shortly. I will be standing at a far point in the room from you at first, where there is a gap in the building’s security camera coverage. When Stephanie arrives I will temporarily disable the camera network and the three of us will move to an empty room together.”

“You know, I don’t think I’d be _half_ as stressed if this wasn’t so fucking complicated.” Micah complained, and Elijah kissed his head.

“If it is any comfort, this is just as much for Stephanie’s peace of mind as it is for everyone’s safety. Myra has a longstanding hold in the social services network. I very much doubt there is real danger, especially with how closely Myra is having to watch her step as of late—“ there was an edge of something grimly satisfied in Elijah’s voice, “—but you can never, ever, be too careful. You do not have to think of it as complicated, though. Just go to the fourth floor, stand there until you see Stephanie, and then I will wave at you and we can go to meet with her in a private room.”

“Okay.” Micah took a deep breath and hugged one of Elijah’s hands more tightly to his middle. “Fuck… my tummy really hurts.” It grumbled with displeasure a moment later as though agreeing with him.

“I’m sorry, Micah…” Elijah crooned softly, ruffling a hand through his curls reassuringly. “Just try to relax for a little while. Do you want some water?”

“Sure.” Micah croaked, trying not to moan aloud as a sharp cramp twisted through his stomach. Maybe he should have given in after the dozenth time either Sasha or Elijah had asked him if he wanted to wait another day. But even with a less-angry tummy, he really felt like putting it off another day would just make him feel worse…

Elijah pulled a water bottle out of the small backpack he was carrying with them and settled it into Micah’s hands, moving to rub his lower back and tummy again with gentle, soothing strokes. Micah sipped at the water and felt a little better after a while, but before long it was time for Elijah to get off. Micah looked up at his best friend with huge eyes and could barely bite back a chuckle at the way Elijah visibly melted and reached to pull him into a hug.

"Oh, Micah." Elijah wrapped him in his arms and held him snug against his chest for a long moment, rubbing his back, ruffling his hair. "Everything will be alright. I know you are nervous but everyone is going to be safe and Stephanie is very eager to see you. And I will be right there if needed." Elijah pulled him back to arms' length and brushed a thumb over his cheek, looking him in the eyes with such a hopeful warmth that Micah had to laugh quietly. 

"You're such a fucking softie." Micah muttered with a grin, and Elijah's mouth quirked up in a smile. He got to his feet as the bus slowed, picked up his bag, leaving the water bottle with Micah, and gave one of the strings of Micah's hoodie a quick, sharp tug. The other end nearly disappeared into its hole and Micah squawked indignantly, fumbling to catch it and pull it back.

"I love you." Elijah told him, heading for the door of the bus, only a hint of a grimace flickering across his face as he straightened up. He stepped into the flow of people getting off, glanced back once, and then he was gone.

Micah had a few more blocks to ride before he would get off. He tried to settle back down into his seat, crossing one arm over his sore tummy and sipping slowly at the water bottle in his other hand. He tried to keep his mind blank and empty, so he wouldn’t stress, so he’d stay _calm_ , but Elijah’s warm hug was gone and the white noise of the other passengers was the perfect backdrop for all of his frantic thoughts to come surging to the surface.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bite back the tears. Fragments of memories rushed across his mind’s screen. Back to the moment he’d thought, he’d hoped, he’d imagined, that he was going to get _two_ moms. Megan’s first date with Stephanie, the blush on her cheeks, her grin, the sparkle in her eyes. Stephanie’s enthusiastic hug, just as tight and warm as Megan’s, on the day of his highschool graduation. Lazy nights scrolling through the university’s major options while his mom and her girlfriend made tea and cookies in the other room and laughed about happy little nothings. Those sparks of joy when he overheard glimpses of their conversation, about how _proud_ they both were of him...

A slender hand combing through his curls as Stephanie clutched him tight in her embrace, as they both cried, and cried, lost in the grief of the closing words of Megan’s funeral. And after, a week later, when she’d told him she was going to visit her family for a weekend, but then she’d come back and help him finish moving into his dorm. Megan would have still wanted him to go to school, Stephanie had said...

And then, she hadn’t come back.

It was really _that_ , in the end. The realization that Stephanie wasn’t coming back. It drove him to the top of that building in the dead of night. Onto the fire escape, looking over the edge, loosening his hold. He’d been alone in all the world, and there just wasn’t a point in pushing on.

And then, he’d locked gazes with a pair of terrified blue eyes.

Micah jumped in his seat when he realized the driver had just called out his stop, and scrambled to get to the doors before they closed, groaning aloud as his tummy clenched. He grabbed the water bottle at the last second and darted out onto the sidewalk, shouldering into the stream of people and looking for the corner of the block where the social services building was.

He spotted it and gritted his teeth, resolving to put one foot in front of the other, make his way to the looming building, several stories high, windows darkly tinted. It looked pretty similar to the one he’d been counseled in throughout all of his childhood; the place he’d go to talk to Megan when she was still his guidance counselor. He’d sit across from her desk and she’d tell him with a smile where he was moving next. He only ever saw her when he was going to move… maybe that’s why he hadn’t noticed the warmth growing in her gaze with every repeating visit until it was too obvious to miss…

Micah gasped for a breath as he pushed open the swinging glass door and moved away from the stream of pedestrians going in and out, scrubbing a fist over his face, smearing away the tears. Goddesses, this was just the worst fucking way to do this. There were too many memories wrapped up in this meeting. Elijah had asked him, over and over again, _Is the social services building alright? Are you sure?_ And Micah had just numbly nodded. He wished he’d asked Elijah to ask Stephanie to meet them both at school, or something. Somewhere more cheerful, more safe. Not that the social services building was _dangerous_ of course, just that it— 

“Can I help you?”

Micah snapped out of his whirling thoughts and focused with difficulty on the young receptionist at the front desk. The man gave him a once-over, then smiled sympathetically, and Micah fought back a grimace. Apparently he looked as bad as he felt.

“Uh…” Micah cleared his throat and fished in his pocket for his student ID, hoping the way his tummy rumbled painfully as he moved wasn’t audible enough for the guy to hear. “My name’s Micah Greene. I’m a student over at Wassara University. I’m meeting someone at the fourth floor lobby?”

Micah handed his ID over and the young man gave it a cursory glance before handing it back. “Sure, I’ll buzz you right in.” He smiled again. “Take some deep breaths, it’s going to be okay.”

It was a stock phrase, one he’d heard a dozen different receptionists say before a dozen other appointments. Micah forced a smile, swallowed hard, and nodded, croaking out a “Thanks.” He stepped aside from the desk and entered the elevator, closing his eyes as the doors closed to carry him up.

He tried to pry his hands off his middle once the doors opened again and he stepped out onto the fourth floor, but a squeezing cramp convinced him that no one else would care, and if they did, hopefully they’d just assume it was pre-appointment nerves. He still looked young enough to be a last-year foster kid, right? He got mistaken for a highschool kid all the time.

What was it Elijah had told him? Get to the fourth floor… wait there until Stephanie showed up… 

Micah moaned under his breath and held his stomach tighter, trying to rub subtle circles over the nauseous ache. He was so fucking dumb — _of course_ it would have been better to put this off for another day. Sasha had been right, he really could barely stand up. Maybe it wasn’t too late to ask Stephanie to come back tomorrow…

Micah hiccuped and as he did, caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, feeling a sense of instant relief when his gaze landed on Elijah across the room. His best friend smiled and made a motion indicating for Micah to stay where he was, and Micah nodded. Elijah was gonna do some shit with the video cameras or something. To give Stephanie peace of mind or whatever. Make it all seem a little safer so she wouldn’t leave again…

Elijah had averted his gaze and had taken out his phone, typing aimlessly at the screen to look occupied, presumably so he wouldn’t look weird waving and miming to Micah across the room. But then Micah felt his own cell buzz in his pocket and he blinked. Not aimless, then. He pulled the device out and read the text from Elijah.

(( _Are you feeling alright?_ ))

Micah simply shook his head, looking mournfully across the room at Elijah. His best friend visibly sighed sympathetically, his hand moving to type something else. His other hand dipped down into a pocket, withdrew holding something too small for Micah to see, and pressed it to the wall behind him, over an indistinct point on the wall. When Elijah dropped his hand, if Micah _really_ squinted, he could see a round, white dot, no larger than the flat end of a thimble…

His phone buzzed in his hand and Micah glanced down again, frowning in mild confusion at the new text he’d gotten.

(( _Whose desk do you suppose this is?_ ))

That gave Micah pause. He blinked, looked up from his phone, his gaze traveling back across the room to where Elijah was. Then Micah closed his eyes and shook his head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He whispered to no one in particular. 

Elijah’s small window of “out of sight of the security cameras” seemed to include a spare desk, that had a number of different office supplies on it, like sticky notes, pens, pencils, some spare name cards — the only one that Micah could make out across the room started with “N” — blank printer paper, ink cartridges, the list went on. Elijah was cheerfully rearranging everything in sight; pushing thumb tacks into the cork paper weight, turning the name cards over, stacking pencils like wooden tower game pieces.

(( _That desk doesn’t belong to anyone, El, it looks like it’s just for spare supplies. Leave it alone!_ )) 

Elijah briefly glanced at his phone, looked up and smirked at Micah, and then continued doing the same stupid things. Micah began to sweat, glancing around. The well-behaved-foster-kid in him was appalled. The more mischievous college jock that’d been clawing his way out bit by bit over the last couple of years wanted to cheer Elijah on. The entire atmosphere of these social services buildings was stifling, even exhausting. And there was always a certain thrill in harmless rules being broken. The few people sitting in cubicles behind the counter kept typing away, oblivious to any shenanigans happening in the open lobby space. 

But if someone caught Elijah then wouldn’t their whole “cover” or whatever get blown? Micah bit his lip, a little scared, a lot confused, then he felt himself twitch a little with alarm when Elijah’s elbow brushed a small plastic cup filled with pens. 

(( _Watch the cup, dude!_ )) 

Elijah glanced at his phone again. He briefly looked confused, then his gaze landed on the cup and he pointed to it questioningly. Micah managed a short, jerky nod.

With a deft, deliberate flick of his wrist, Elijah pushed the cup off the desk and watched the pens scatter. _Smugly_. 

Micah’s jaw was still hanging when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. His first thought was to just brush it off as maybe someone leaving or entering a room, or even possibly someone heading to take the stairs instead of the elevator, but then the small, insistent wave happened again and he turned his head.

Stephanie.

Everything else disappeared. The room, the quiet background noise, Elijah — it was all swallowed up by the sudden rushing sound in his head. Stephanie looked so much older; _too_ much older to have only been gone two years. The warm brown eyes Micah remembered were hopeful but guarded, withdrawn, tired. The hair she once wore in short, cheerful waves was tied back in a practical, reserved knot at the back of her head. She was dressed not in her usual sunny yellows or strawberry pinks but neutral, muted professional clothes. Things that wouldn’t draw attention. Something that Micah wouldn’t have known was something anyone in their life ever thought about if he hadn’t thought that one time to ask Elijah why he never wore red.

Micah felt pinned to the floor where he stood, heart clenching and rising up to lodge in his throat, and then suddenly, very suddenly, he realized the renewed churning in his stomach meant its contents were about to follow suit. The sight of Stephanie’s face brought the grief flooding to the surface; the grief he’d been struggling all day to stamp back down into the safe box under the bed in his chest where it couldn’t ruin his life every day. Seeing Stephanie without his mom was harder than he’d ever wanted to admit.

Micah turned and ran, down the hall, not looking back to see if either Stephanie or Elijah were trying to follow him. His breath caught in his throat and he almost heaved right in the hallway but he frantically clamped a hand over his mouth, choking it all back for a split second longer. He spotted the sign for the closest restroom through teary eyes, shoved the door open and out of his way, not even checking to see if there was anyone else in the neighboring stall as he hit his knees in front of the nearest toilet and threw up.

It wasn’t like there was much for him _to_ bring up — a tiny bit of yogurt and granola he’d managed that morning — but mostly just foamy mouthfuls of thick, pink medicine that just made him heave harder for how disgusting it was, splattering down into the toilet as he coughed and cried and tried to push his own sweaty curls back from his forehead. He was eighteen again and ripping out pages of his highschool notebooks that his mother and Stephanie had left notes of encouragement on, sobbing as he tore them apart and threw them into the drainage ditch next to his dorm, hating himself for getting too happy. He was alone again, wishing every flower in the world would shrivel up and die because they were ugly reminders of the ones on Megan Greene’s grave. He was climbing the freezing fire escape in the dead of night again, because not even his mother’s girlfriend, who’d claimed to love him, really wanted anything to do with him in the end. He retched and spewed out more sticky pink saliva, teeth rattling as he hacked it up.

The door to the bathroom across the room creaked open and Micah started to hold his breath, trying to swallow back against the sickness, but then a very soft, familiar voice said, “It’s just me, Micah.” The door to the stall began to open; Micah hadn’t locked it behind himself.

“I’m just— being _stupid._ ” Micah cried a little harder, pausing to cough and spit up something that tasted foul on the back of his throat.

“No, you’re not.” Elijah knelt beside him on the dirty bathroom floor, pressing one big, supportive hand to Micah’s back. He began to stroke soothingly between Micah’s shoulders, reaching to tear off some toilet paper and clean his chin. His arm guided Micah to lean against his shoulder as he wiped the toilet seat off and flushed the evidence away.

“I’m sorry…” Micah swallowed hard and blinked against the sting of sweat and tears and his best friend’s hand combed through his curls, brushing them back with a soothing, repetitive motion. Elijah reached around to feel against the slightly bloated curve of his tummy, and then he began to rub, quiet, soft circles. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Elijah’s touch trailed down from his head to his shoulder and then to his crouched knee, affectionate and worried. “You’re not being— stupid, Micah.” His voice cracked unexpectedly and Micah abruptly felt dazed with the reminder of how much his best friend loved him. The tightness in his chest started to fade; the way his head was swimming began to ease.

“You were messing with that damn desk because you were trying to distract me from freaking the fuck out, weren’t you?” Micah realized suddenly, and turned his cheek further into Elijah’s chest with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes. “Did… did you talk to Stephanie?”

“I walked her down to an empty room, she’s waiting for us as soon as you’re ready.”

Elijah’s hand was rubbing his back again and Micah took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Micah grasped at Elijah’s shoulders, pushing himself up to a dubious standing position. Best not to think too much about it. He was going to walk down that hall and fucking face this.

Elijah’s hands followed him, making sure he didn’t fall over, then he stood up as well. He still had the small backpack he had been carrying tucked over his shoulder, and as they left the stall, he began digging in it. He pulled out a flask and a tin of mints.

“It’s just water.” Elijah explained, offering the flask for Micah to rinse with. “Where’s the water bottle I left with you?”

“Ugh.” Micah shook his head, still swishing the taste of vomit from the inside of his mouth. He spit into the sink and ran the faucet before drinking a little to quench his thirst. “Must’ve left it somewhere on my way in… maybe by the reception desk, I dunno.” He tossed a couple of mints past his lips and their pleasant, cool taste was a welcome relief. “Did you, uh… wreck the video cameras or whatever?”

“Everything’s taken care of.” Elijah’s voice was so soft, so earnest. It was impossible not to have faith in him.

Micah rubbed his eyes. “I’m ready.”

Turning the doorknob to that room was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, but Micah did it, and then he walked into the room and then he stood to face Stephanie and then he tried to unclench his hands from nervous fists. Elijah trailed behind him, closing the door and locking it, then he came to stand by his side, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

Stephanie, with her tired eyes and nervous smile, gave him a little wave, a flutter of shaky fingers. “Hi, Micah.”

Micah wrinkled his nose in a futile attempt to squint away the tears that threatened. “Hey, Steph.”

“I think we should all take a seat.” Elijah suggested after a brief moment of silence had made the room awkward. “I can imagine this is going to be a difficult conversation, and the both of you might feel more comfortable sitting down for it.”

Stephanie pried her gaze from Micah’s face, looking up to Elijah, her expression unreadable. Her lips tightened and she swallowed. “You’re Elijah, right? You’ve been handling communication between us? And you’ve been… tampering with things to keep them off the scent?”

“Yes.” Elijah briefly stepped away from Micah’s side to reach out and offer his hand. He gave Stephanie’s a firm, cordial shake. “In case you want to know, I am highly integrated with the illicit circles in various ways.”

Stephanie looked conflicted. She visibly tensed, and Micah felt his heart clench. She looked so scared.

“What’s your stake in this?” Stephanie glanced around Elijah to Micah. In answer, Elijah moved carefully and put his hand on Micah’s shoulder again.

“Micah is my stake in this.” Elijah answered, conviction plain in his voice that made Micah blink away tears and seemed to help Stephanie relax. She took a small step back and sank down onto a low cushioned seat, facing them.

Micah took a deep breath and moved towards an armchair, only squeaking in slight surprise when Elijah came up behind him, scooped him off his feet, and settled down in the chair with Micah on his lap. He put his arms around him in a gentle hold and Micah couldn’t even complain, because not only was it wonderful to be held, but the rest of the tension had melted out of Stephanie’s expression and she was looking at them now with amusement, not fear.

Another beat of silence passed, then Stephanie took a deep breath. “I… don’t know where to start.”

“Me neither.” Micah squirmed a little on Elijah’s lap, getting comfy, hiding a grimace when his stomach gurgled softly. He hoped Stephanie hadn’t heard it. “Um… so uh, the last I heard of you, before, was you were going to go see your family for a weekend? After the uh—“ his voice broke, “—the funeral. I was still kinda getting stuff situated in the dorm, and then— then I didn’t hear from you again. That’s all I knew about the situation until like…” He turned his head to look up into Elijah’s face. “A few weeks ago.”

Stephanie hesitated. “What happened a few weeks ago?”

“Ugh, I caught some… stomach flu or whatever that was going around.” Micah chewed his lip. “El was taking care of me but he had to go out for the… ‘illicit’ stuff he does…”

“You’re in a gang, I’m sure.” Stephanie offered to break the ice, looking into Elijah’s eyes calmly. Micah exhaled in relief as Elijah nodded.

“Yeah, so, anyways he was going out to do that, but he rode with me over to my girlfriend’s place so I wouldn’t have to be on my own. When we got there, Sasha — my girlfriend — went to get some medicine, and…” Micah sighed. “Elijah lost his shit when he saw that it was from Everbright Pharmacy.”

Stephanie’s expression was grim but she didn’t look surprised. “You didn’t take any, of course? Not that most of it is dangerous on its own… but still.”

“No way. Not after this dumbass—“ Micah grasped at Elijah’s sleeve when his best friend tucked his arm even more warmly around him, “—lost his fucking _mind_.”

“I have known about Myra and Everbright Pharmacy for a long time, but it was not until Micah told me he recognized the name and mentioned that you had been working for the company that I put the pieces together regarding what must have happened.” Elijah smoothly cut in to explain, his hand patting Micah’s side when he squirmed again, his tummy grumbling unhappily. “I left Micah with Sasha and… began making arrangements to attack the pharmacy at the street level.”

“You led the attack.” Stephanie gasped aloud in sudden realization, her eyes almost hollow. Micah was starting to worry. “Oh Goddesses. _You_. How— how do you two even know each other?”

“I also attend Wassara University.”

Stephanie’s brow drew further. “It’s a big campus. How… how did you two meet? Surely it can’t have been purely coincidence?”

Immediately the silence in the room grew thick enough to cut with a knife. Elijah looked like he didn’t know how to answer, or if he should, and he avoided looking at Micah. Stephanie looked _only_ at Micah. Micah considered a dozen different ways to answer the question, but decided trying to sugarcoat it would just make it worse.

“I tried to kill myself.” Micah croaked out, and immediately had to bite back a rush of words, tried to explain slowly and calmly, even as he watched Stephanie’s heart break, plain on her face.

“It’s not your fault! It’s… just how things went. I didn’t know what to think, I— there wasn’t anyone to turn to, and it was so hard and no one was there, and I just— didn’t see the point anymore. I climbed the fire escape on the admissions building in the middle of campus and I was gonna jump off. Elijah was… Elijah came out the front door of the building right before I did it and stopped me. It was the middle of the night.” Micah looked up to see blue eyes gazing down at him, haunted with memory but full of love. “You know… I still don’t know what you were doing there, El.”

Elijah ruffled his curls. “It is a bit complicated and might not be best to go into right now, but the short answer is that I was gathering some data for Mary’s purposes.” He looked up to Stephanie seriously. “Mary Evans is my mentor on the illicit side of things. Perhaps you’ve heard of her, in the past couple of years?”

“I have.” The pain hadn’t left Stephanie’s face, and she didn’t look away from Micah to answer Elijah. She sat and stared, and Micah felt helpless to do anything, say anything that would make it better.

He opened his mouth, hoping the words would come, but his tummy suddenly decided to speak for him, snarling grumpily again, and he _knew_ Stephanie had to have heard it that time. He felt his face heat instantly and it certainly didn’t help matters when Elijah folded a hand over his middle and began to rub soothing circles over his upset stomach, as casually as he would if they were alone.

“Dude.” Micah hissed under his breath, absolutely certain his face was on fire. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“Rubbing your tummy.” Elijah answered, abruptly calm, a hint of amusement in his tone, and Micah was overwhelmed with the desire to sink through the floor. Was Elijah _teasing_ him? Here? Now? Cuddling him shamelessly in front of his mom’s _girlfriend?_ And what was with that — “ _tummy_ ” — Elijah almost never said that. _Definitely_ teasing.

But then, Micah turned his head when he heard Stephanie chuckle, very softly, as much a sound of relief as it was of humor, and he felt a rush of relief himself. Elijah wasn’t trying to embarrass him, he was trying to diffuse the tension. Like he’d been doing all day.

“You don’t still have that flu, Micah, do you?” A more benign look of worry crossed Stephanie’s face, then her expression morphed to one of bemusement, before settling on rueful understanding. “Oh… _no_. Did you stress-eat over seeing _me?”_

Micah coughed — was it a laugh? a sob? — and then he was leaping to his feet, feeling the warmth of Elijah’s hand follow his back for a few steps, steadying him. “Before I walked into this room I— I wasn’t even sure that you even still c _ared_ , okay?”

Stephanie’s face crumpled and she raised a hand to her mouth as she dissolved into tears, but Micah wasn’t going to just say that and then let her cry — he stumbled across the room and crashed to his knees next to her chair. And then he was throwing himself across her lap like a little child and she was clutching his shoulders and the back of his head, bowing forward with a gasp as she cried.

“I’m sorry, Micah.” Stephanie wept, and he struggled upright to hug more of her, winding his arms around her back and tightening his hold even as she tightened hers. It was a hug that he’d given up wanting more than a year ago but was no less needed, no less healing. Her fingers tangled in his curls and he cried onto her shoulder. The scent of her lemon shampoo hadn’t changed even though everything else had.

They stayed wrapped around each other, awkwardly crammed onto one chair, for a long time, just hugging and crying and Stephanie whispered she was sorry more than once and Micah couldn’t say it was okay because it wasn’t, but at some point he managed, “You’re back.”

Eventually she cleared her throat and stroked the back of his head, and he blinked sticky eyes, raising a fist to scrub at them. He pushed himself up, stiffly climbing to his feet, and moved away for a moment while she dried her eyes. He grabbed another chair and pulled it close to hers and sat down, reaching over to hold her hand. She clutched at his like a lifeline.

“I didn’t just walk away.” She started, and Micah nodded, coughing the last of the lump out of his throat before speaking.

“El said that he thought that maybe the— the people who hurt mom were like… holding you hostage or something?” Micah bit his lip; it was more terrifying to say out loud than he’d even thought about. He turned his head to look at Elijah for reassurance, then felt his lips part in surprise. Elijah was leaning back in his chair, a hand over his eyes, hiding his face from view. His shoulders were slightly hunched.

“I can see he loves you very much.” Stephanie whispered so low in his ear, Micah barely heard. He frowned slightly and she added, just as quietly, “I think it’s hard for him to see you cry.” Then she spoke up, loud enough to be heard by both of them, “Micah, what do you know about Myra?”

Micah was still looking at Elijah, so he didn’t miss the way his best friend’s fingers dug into the arm of the chair. “Uh… Elijah said she’s a false goddess and that…” Micah racked his brain, trying to remember the details. “She’s in league with forces from the mainland. She’s part of the corruption that makes the city so dangerous.”

Stephanie looked faintly surprised, but then she sighed heavily, leaning her head back, gazing aimlessly at the ceiling. When she spoke, she seemed to change the subject entirely. “Your mom and I started dating shortly before I accepted a promotion to the board of Everbright Pharmacy. I was really busy at the time, but one of the best parts of my day was coming around to see you two.” Stephanie reached up to brush a couple of Micah’s curls back from his forehead. “Megan loved you so much, Micah. You meant the world to her; being around her being around you was this… infectious joy I’d never felt before. I’d never been happier in my life then when I was with you both.”

Micah coughed and started crying again. Stephanie squeezed his hand.

“Myra’s organization had been… secretly conspiring with various pharmacies and medical institutions all over the city for decades, but they wanted something more… public. They have their own — some kind of — ‘spiritual’ healing services and they wanted to associate with modern medicine for more credibility. I didn’t — I didn’t even know anything back then, before, about who Myra really was or what her organization stood for but I knew I didn’t want to promote unscientific nonsense in the name of ‘spirituality.’ We — myself and the rest of the board — pretty much unanimously rejected the proposition.” The hollow look was back in her eyes. “I didn’t know who Myra really was.”

“Myra murders to silence her opposition.” Elijah spoke up from across the room, and Micah managed to tear his gaze from Stephanie’s face. There was darkness and fury in his best friend’s eyes. “Myra murdered Megan Greene.”

Stephanie’s breath caught, and she nodded. “Megan was estranged from her family. Micah, her only close relative, was adopted as a late teen from the foster care system and had been in her custody for less than a year. She worked in social services, one of the most heavily government-regulated branches of the city. She was dating someone on the board at Everbright Pharmacy.” Stephanie’s voice was breaking and Micah cried harder, reaching over to hug her, but she barely responded. “She was the perfect target. The cause of her death was obvious to everyone on that board. Instant terror… no one had anywhere they could turn for answers without fear of making things worse.”

“Everyone would have immediately drawn as far from you, in particular, as they possibly could.” Elijah leaned forward onto his elbows, over his knees. “Micah had just registered for school, and theoretically might be safe, if you didn’t contact him again. If you walked away and made it look as though you had abandoned him in a convenient spot, those in power might believe you didn’t love him enough for him to hold sway over you.”

Micah was shaking and Stephanie finally lifted her arms to return the hug. “Yes.” It was all she said.

“The past two years must have been hell.” Micah rasped, and she held him tighter again, more tears falling down her cheeks as she closed her eyes.

“Yes.” She said again. And then, “I love you, Micah.”

He shuddered, and sobbed, “I love you too, Steph.”

Silence reigned again, save for the sounds of their quiet weeping, then a snarl of words rose up in Micah’s throat, and they started spilling out before he could pull them back, quiet them, save them for another time.

“Mom loved you too, so much. When you were coming over she’d— ramble on and on about whatever we’d planned to do for the day, and she’d start cleaning up in the kitchen or whatever even though it was never really needed— she’d say stuff like she wanted it to be nice for you, and she’d get this really happy look in her eyes. Anytime we were out for anything she’d see stuff in stores or flowers in the garden boxes on houses and stuff and talk about how much you’d like them. She started keeping more flowers around the house because she knew you’d like them. She started playing all those old radio stations all the time so it’d be the first thing you’d hear when you walked in. And then she started listening to that music on her own so she’d know your favorite songs! And when you told her that one time that you never built a pillow fort as a kid she was like actually upset. As soon as you weren’t around to see she bought like four extra pillows and stuffed them in the fucking hall closet. That wasn’t coincidence. And she spent like thirty minutes deciding what popcorn to get so we’d be prepared for the movies afterwards once we finished the fort. She totally planned the whole fucking thing.” Micah scrubbed at his eyes again, they were feeling raw and sore. “Just… thinking about you made her get all blush and giggly. She would say things like… ‘it’s too early to think about it but I hope she stays around forever.’”

“It was my fault she died.” Stephanie croaked. Micah’s jaw dropped and he took a breath to yell that wasn’t true, but before he could, Elijah beat him to it.

“No it was **_not!!”_**

Micah and Stephanie both turned their heads, startled, for Elijah was on his feet, a rage billowing off of him like a breaking summer storm. “You did **_nothing_** to provoke Myra’s persecution!! The blame lies on her and her organization alone and you _cannot_ live believing otherwise!!”

A beat passed, then Elijah abruptly looked taken aback with _himself_ , grimacing and stepping back, clearly uncertain where to look or what to do with his hands, which he ended up crossing over his chest. Stephanie’s gaze softened as she looked at him.

“You must have lost someone too, Elijah?”

He glanced their way, then curled in further on himself. “I have.”

Stephanie squeezed Micah’s hand, her expression unreadable. “Elijah you’ve… done a lot to help Micah and I reunite. I’m sorry, I know this is rude to ask but I have to know… was it _only_ for Micah? Did you gain nothing else?”

Elijah turned to meet Micah’s wide eyes, then looked at Stephanie. “It was for Micah. There was nothing ‘only’ about it.”

“You’re such a fucking sap.” Micah managed to choke out before his throat closed completely.

Still red-eyed and sniffly, Stephanie grinned. She looked between the two of them. “Can I ask what you are to each other?”

“He’s my best friend.” Micah said automatically.

Elijah gazed at them both seriously. Then with absolute certainty, he said, “We are Kindred.”

“Oh no.” Micah groaned. “Oh fuck.” He coughed and managed not to burst into another round of hysterical tears, but he _wanted_ to. Happy ones.

Stephanie blinked, bemused again. Micah didn’t know how to tell her that he and Elijah had never really talked about the label, so he settled for, “We haven’t really told a lot of people… usually we just let them assume. Wasn’t expecting to hear him say that. But yeah, that basically covers it.”

Elijah smiled at him softly from across the room.

“A girlfriend and a Kindred.” Stephanie leaned over, cupped Micah’s cheeks in her hands, and kissed him on the forehead with a huge smile. “Micah, you are so loved.”

“I know.” He whispered, leaning further into her hold. “And by you too, and I didn’t know that, and now I do and— thanks, Steph. You probably saved my fucking life. And I almost… wasted that. But I’m… safe now and so are you and we— we could try again maybe? I could put you down as my guardian on all my school forms again, maybe…”

Stephanie abruptly looked incredibly conflicted. Her eyes grew sad and she bit her lip. She seemed to silently deliberate before she spoke again. “Actually, Micah… that’s something that I need to talk to you about.”

Micah felt his heart drop, his chest constrict with worry. “Yeah?”

Stephanie took a very deep breath. “I’m not going to be staying in Leidoa. Myra lost her hold on Everbright enough for me to leave in the wake of confusion, but her organization is already regrouping and planning a comeback. They won’t be leaving me, or anyone else they had their claws in, in peace. Staying here and reconnecting with you would be just as dangerous as it was two years ago. I already have plans to get out of the country… I’ll be gone by the end of the month.” She rubbed his shoulder when he gasped a little. “I was hoping you’d… come with me?”

Micah’s jaw dropped in shock, his mind reeling. Leave? Leave Leidoa? Leave school and his friends and Sasha and Elijah? “What?”

“I know it’s an enormous question, I’m sorry to spring it on you so suddenly. You don’t have to answer right away, you can have Elijah call me when you decide?” Stephanie glanced towards Elijah, who nodded and looked shockingly unsurprised. “But it’s not because I want to uproot you for my own sake, its— Leidoa’s not safe, Micah. Even if Myra had never preyed on you or me or Megan. I never knew as much about what goes on below the surface as I do now… but it’s disgusting. It’s horrendous. There are eyes everywhere, and it’s nearly impossible to know when someone is trustworthy or not. If you could get out of the country with me, we could go somewhere safe. Somewhere we could live in peace. I hate the thought of getting out of here and running away and leaving you behind with the kind of danger that lurks here.” Stephanie paused to swallow, closing her eyes. “But it’s up to you. It’s your choice, Micah.”

“For what it is worth…” Elijah walked over towards them, and knelt a couple of steps away, meeting Micah’s gaze and holding it solemnly. “Stephanie does have a point. Things are liable to get worse in Leidoa before they get better, and whether or not you retain a direct connection to Myra’s hold, there are risks here that are not present in other places in the world. You likely _could_ have a safer life elsewhere.”

Micah felt like the rug had been snatched out from underneath him. “Would you come with us?”

Elijah’s brow drew sorrowfully. “No. I wouldn’t.”

Micah leaned back, struggling for a breath. “I… I don’t—“

“You don’t have to decide right now, peanut.” Stephanie squeezed his hand. The use of the old nickname made his heart catch in his throat. “Just think about it over the next couple of weeks, okay?” She met Elijah’s gaze again. “I’m sure we both just want you to be happy and safe.”

Elijah nodded.

Micah blinked back more tears. “Will I ever see you again if I say no?”

“I don’t know.” Stephanie sighed honestly, the look in her eyes growing distant. “I hope so.” Her voice cracked softly. “I’ll see you again before I leave, I promise. But I’ll still need to keep my distance until then. I can’t take the risk that Myra is still watching me more closely than I think.”

“Yeah.” Micah swallowed hard. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“We have time, right now though.” Stephanie smiled softly and put an arm around him, drawing him into a tight hug. He nestled gratefully into her shoulder and closed his eyes, pushing away the hard questions for later.

“For now…” Her hand combed through the fringe of his curls again. “Why don’t you tell me how school is going?”

\- - - - -

Stephanie left the social services building a bit ahead of when Elijah told Micah that the two of them would plan to do the same. They both — Stephanie and Elijah — muttered something about it being safer, and Micah shrugged and decided to trust their judgement. He hugged Stephanie tightly before she walked out of the room, tearfully thanking her and whispering his love, and then she kissed his cheek and slipped out. When the door closed behind her, Micah turned, scrubbing at his eyes, to find Elijah back in the armchair with a hand extended invitingly.

“I’m fucking tired.” Micah complained, his feet dragging as he walked over, and Elijah smiled softly, almost sadly.

“I know you are. We will head back to Sasha’s place very soon.” He hoisted Micah up into his lap when he got close, then stiffened and hissed in agony when Micah unintentionally dug a stray elbow into the broad plane of his stomach.

“ _Shit!_ Fuck, I’m sorry! I—“ Micah jerked back and nearly toppled off the chair before Elijah caught him with a hand around his waist.

“It’s alright.” Elijah wheezed a bit breathlessly, pulling him back to lean against his chest. Micah did so with immense care, stroking a hand very gently over Elijah’s middle, though his best friend didn’t relax into the touch like he usually might.

“I didn’t realize you were still hurting so much.” Micah worriedly watched Elijah pry his eyes open and untwist his lips from their grimace. “That can’t be good, El…”

Elijah tucked him a little closer and rested his cheek on Micah’s head. “It does not feel particularly good, no. But it has not been very long since I received the injury. I am unlikely to see significant improvement for a while longer.” He placed a warm hand over Micah’s belly and rubbed a thumb softly under his ribs. “How are _you_ feeling?”

Micah sighed heavily and turned his cheek further into Elijah’s collarbone. “Way better. Actually… kinda getting hungry.” His tummy growled almost as if on cue.

Elijah smiled again and patted. “We can pick up something to eat on our way back.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew the flask again. “Maybe you should drink something?” He brushed the bent knuckle of a finger over Micah’s cheek, and his gentle touch felt soothing against the rawness under Micah’s puffy, tearstained eyes.

He lifted the flask to his mouth and gulped down a mouthful of water. He let Elijah take the container back and stayed silent for a moment longer, before blurting out, “You don’t actually want me to leave, do you?”

Elijah closed his eyes and sighed and didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was thick with emotion. “Selfishly, no, for the most part. But you _would_ be safer, and I want that more than anything else. Besides… at the end of medical school, you and I will have to separate regardless, Micah.” Elijah quickly lifted a hand to touch his cheek comfortingly again before Micah could protest. “Just as much for my safety as for yours. I cannot retain strong ties to surface culture at that point. Of course, that is several years from now and if you stayed, we would still have that time, but taking this opportunity to go somewhere where you can be safe and happy would give me a lot of peace, even though I would miss you terribly. But of course you cannot base your decision solely on me, either.”

“I don’t even really want to think about it right away.” Micah cleared his throat, and leaned his head back down on Elijah’s shoulder in exhaustion. “It’s too much. Too much for one fucking day.”

“I know.” Elijah rubbed his side. “I know you’re tired, Micah.”

“It’s just… you didn’t seem surprised when Stephanie asked me about it. I just… wanted to hear you say that you don’t _want_ me gone.”

“Of course not.” Elijah cuddled him a little tighter. “I somewhat suspected she would ask, given the circumstances, but I wasn’t certain and I didn’t want to burden this visit with more anxiety than you were already dealing with. If your safety were not part of the question I would be devastated to see you go.” He gave Micah another warm squeeze. “But as Stephanie said, it is your choice. I cannot make it for you.”

“Got it.” Micah threaded his fingers through Elijah’s big ones and squeezed his hand, anchoring himself.

They were quiet for a while, Elijah softly stroking Micah’s back and side, trailing his touch a little over the front of his tummy every so often, even though it had quieted down and wasn’t giving Micah any more grief. Micah was almost asleep, in fact, when he thought of something else, and forced his eyes open again.

“You called us Kindred.”

Elijah looked uncomfortable. “Was that alright?”

Micah gaped up at him. “Of course it was! Hell I— I’ve been thinking of us as ‘Kindred’ since forever ago. But you… no offense El, but you’re really jumpy around labels and I never really felt like you wanted to talk about it.”

Elijah looked _more_ uncomfortable. He rubbed the heel of his hand over one eye and cleared his throat. “No, I suppose I haven’t wanted to talk about it. The concept is… difficult for me to think about. I didn’t realize it was such a common practice to label oneself in so many different ways until coming to college. I know very little about labels but… I know that I love you, Micah, and I know it is in such a way that most people would consider ‘beyond’ casual friendship. But the different labels you or I could pick… I don’t— I’m not one hundred percent sure that the way I love you _can_ be reduced to a label, and I’m… scared that if something I do or say falls outside whatever boundaries exist for that definition then others would find fault— ugh.”

Micah touched Elijah’s shoulder in worry when his friend pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned deeply. “El? You okay?”

“Fine, I just.” Elijah pressed his hand more fully to his brow again. “I hate talking about myself.”

Micah gave him a dry look, and Elijah peeked back at him hesitantly as he continued. “I don’t… see you as a romantic partner. I’ve never felt that way about anyone… even when I’ve tried. I know that I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever known in my life. I know that — safety aside — if it were _possible_ , I would want you to be in my life for as long as it lasts. And… I recognize that there is some use in labels. I felt that it was the easiest, simplest way to answer Stephanie’s question, to give her the most basic understanding of our relationship to each other in the short amount of time we had. But… I don’t want to adopt the label and it to suddenly… change anything about our friendship or how we care for one another.”

Micah was suddenly fighting happy tears again. “You know, we don’t have to go around suddenly telling everyone that we’re Kindred. It’s not _really_ anyone’s business but ours. And of course it doesn’t change anything, dumbass. It’s just… really nice to know you feel the same way I do. We don’t have to make it into a big production or anything.”

Elijah smiled, very softly, and Micah could almost swear that his eyes looked a little misty. Micah nestled his chin back on his best friend’s shoulder and sighed. “How long til we can leave? And can we get subs on the way back?”

Elijah looked at his phone. “Fifteen minutes.” He ruffled Micah’s curls and kissed his forehead. “Of course we can.”

“Thanks.” Micah croaked, squeezing Elijah’s hand between both of his. “For everything. Fucking _everything_. You did this for me. You risked so much and you got you and your tummy all fucked up and you did it without even thinking about how hard it was… cause you were doing it for _me_. And I couldn’t have even walked into this hellhole of a building without you. I couldn’t have dragged myself into this room and gotten to hear everything I’ve wanted to hear for the past two and a half fucking years. I trust you more than anyone else I’ve ever known in my life too, El. I love you.”

Elijah blinked hard, his eyes _definitely_ watering slightly before he blinked again, clearing them. He hugged Micah tightly, winding both arms around him and holding him with the kind of strength that squeezed his breath away, just slightly.

“I love you too, Micah.”

\- - - - -

They left the social services building together, after Elijah assured Micah the risk had passed and they needn’t worry about alerting anyone dangerous as to the nature of their trip there. They picked up sub sandwiches on the way back like Micah had wanted, texting Sasha to ask what she wanted and to let her know they were coming back soon. She greeted them with sodas and open arms and promised Micah he could tell her as much as he wanted to as soon as he was ready. For that night at least, everyone agreed it was probably best for him to just rest.

Once it was dark outside and everyone had eaten, Micah and Sasha tucked up in bed with only a few small string lights twinkling above the headboard. She’d insisted he wash his face and Elijah had coaxed sips of water into him all evening, so he was feeling much better, the stickiness of tears scrubbed away and his head sunk deep into a pillow, Sasha’s hand curled around his, her wing draped over his back.

Sasha’s other three roommates were either out at parties or had also gone to bed, and the traffic on the road that wound past the complex was slow past a certain time at night.

There wasn’t much noise to disguise the pained retching in the bathroom.

Elijah’s fingers clutched, white-knuckled, at the rim of the sink as he spat up another mouthful of fluid and bile. He gasped for air and then coughed, retched again, but nothing came up, and he clamped a hand over his mouth as if to stifle the noise that would surely send anyone running to check on him if they heard.

He began to straighten, crippled by pain and nausea. Dragging his gaze to the mirror in the only dim light he’d dared to turn on reflected back his bloodshot eyes and the wisps of his hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead.

He started to head for the living room, for the couch, somewhere to collapse and sleep until morning other than the tiled bathroom floor, but sank to his knees halfway there before struggling up again, trying again. He clutched at his mouth again, moaning in searing pain, retching again against his palm. Nothing came up. No one woke up.

It was an hour before he made it to the couch.

He knew something was wrong.


End file.
